Human
by TechnoScribe
Summary: The long awaited sequel to Breaking Walls. You might want to read it first lest you find yourself lost in an alternate universe without a map. - Rodney's friends and colleagues on Earth are digging up the past and in so doing dig up trouble for Rodney.
1. Prelude

_- His body may be chained to the earth, _

_but so long as a man has an educated imagination _

_he will fly to worlds unseen by common men. _

_The only true freedom is freedom of the mind._-

_PRELUDE_

_The multi-storied complex was eerily empty. Mugs of cold coffee and the odd stale donut sat on desks that had been emptied of any files beside computers that had been emptied of any information. The backs of the PC's were simply unscrewed and the hard drives melted with acid. Yet nothing had been wiped for prints. One mug even had a lipstick imprint left on it. In almost every room the lights were on, but nobody was home. They'd come upon lab after lab in the same state. One room had cages of mice lining the walls. In their entire CIA careers nobody on the team had seen anything like it. It was damned unsettling._

_The team of ten moved silently through the corridors with weapons at ready._

"_Hey, look at this," an agent indicated through the door he'd just opened. The room was kitted out like a boys bedroom. A boy interested in space, from the looks of it. Posters of planets hung on the walls, a planet mobile hung above the bed, and the ceiling was painted like a night sky. It was completely out of place in the vast facility of labs. The key pad on the outside of the door showed that it locked from the outside._

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"Yes, yes. We've been over that. He was abducted and experimented on by the organization you were double dealing with. The CIA found him, he got away, the CIA found him again. Let's skip forward, shall we?" The interruption was met with an offended scowl from the elderly former double agent. If his interrogator noticed the offence he certainly didn't care. The balding bureaucrat, Richard Woolsey, polished his glasses and regarded the retired, technically imprisoned, agent with infuriating condescension. "Need I remind you your continued comfort depends on your full and forthright ongoing cooperation."

Woolsey stressed the word ongoing even as his eyes shifted around the abode with an air of obvious disapproval. For all his crimes the prison which the aged double agent found him in bore greater resemblance to an underground retirement home, complete with around the clock nursing care, an indoor garden with deck chairs which they sat in now, a bar, a wide screen TV. The list could go on. Anders doubted he would receive any visitors at all if the Pentagon wasn't determined to profile a more complete history of Dr. McKay since his deceptions were outed.

"Yes of course," the elderly man agreed with a forced complacent smile.

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_It had only been ten months since the boy criminal genius had been recovered from his hideout in Disney World, of all places. Special Agent Henry Fox had been quick to volunteer to look out for the boy. His request had been granted because he seemed to be the only agent able to even remotely handle Rodney McKay. Being the agent on the scene to recover him twice, first from the facility and then from the theme park, and being one who worked briefly with him before his abduction, seemed to have afforded him a small amount of trust; a very small amount. Since then Henry would swear that a good deal more of his grey hairs had gone white._

_To say that the boy was troubled would be an understatement. The kid obviously had nightmares but wouldn't talk to anyone about it. He ran circles around his therapists, lying to them with ease and managing to convince one that it was she who had multiple neurosis. And if Henry left him under the watchful eye of any other agent Rodney ignored instructions and seemed to take great pleasure in giving them the slip. At first they would close in on him at airports, bus stations, train stations, or hitchhiking on the freeway. But lately he seemed to have given up on that idea. Today Henry had left him under the supervision of a full CIA surveillance team for just a few hours. When he'd left Rodney had seemed to be working pretty contentedly on some new gadget that Anders had assigned him. David Anders was the sour faced, grumpy SOB agent whom had somehow also been assigned to work with the boy as a go between on pretty much all projects. Anders would communicate and supervise any assignments the boy was given, and report the results to whatever departments made the request. The plan was to keep a buffer around their boy genius to protect his identity from other departments. Which pretty much just left Henry as a glorified babysitter. Not that that wasn't a full time job. Because it was._

_When Henry got back the gadget was finished, along with a report Anders had requested for next week, a detailed design for a piece of new field tech that Henry was pretty sure nobody asked him for and a working model sitting right there on the desk top sending out a signal that had the surveillance teams live video feed on loop. Rodney was nowhere to be seen. And so, once again, Henry found himself driving around the city, directing three teams to hunt down one boy before he could cause too much damage or get himself into trouble, while arguing with Agent David Anders. _

_Henry gripped the wheel and narrowed his eyes, "I am telling you we are pushing him too hard."_

"_You mean we're not pushing him hard enough." Anders countered bitterly, "He's been playing us for idiots for a year now. A full CIA team has been proven incapable of keeping track of a 12 year old! If after doing all that work and more he's not too tired to run away then we need to tire him out more."_

"_He's almost 16." Henry corrected, not for the first time._

"_Whatever." Anders dismissed. "The point is that's eight times now. He's shown zero gratitude for the fact that he's not in prison."_

"_So he's high strung." Henry deliberately ignored the prison comment. He and Anders had argued enough about that._

"_He's a terrorist. " Anders insisted. Apparently they were going to have that argument again anyway. "And you mark my words, that boy is faking us out with that whole memory loss thing."_

"_He's just a kid." Henry insisted with greater force._

"_He's a menace. Let's just find him before he does something that can't be contained." Anders volleyed back._

"_Whatever," Henry turned the wheel and rounded into the city park that CTTV had caught Rodney entering. "My point is that he clearly doesn't belong with us. He should be with a family."_

"_Well he clearly doesn't belong with the public either," the animosity in Anders tone had been replaced with dread and aw. _

_All around the park fountain children giggled as they hovered slightly above the ground in giant bubbles. Now and then a bubble popped and a child would run back into the fountain and float out with a new one. On top of the pillar at the center of the fountain sat a soaking wet Rodney McKay, like a king on his throne, laughing at the entire spectacle. The two men sat in silence until a poodle floated past their window._

_Then Anders spotted a reporter taking pictures and shot out of the car to confiscate the camera, but not before barking back at Henry, "Get him under control."_

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_The boy was sixteen, Henry had to remind himself as he sat across from the sulky teenager. Even after almost a year of good meals and top medical care he looked too young for his age. The all black wardrobe he'd chosen for himself did nothing to make him look healthier. His hair was still sodden and his skin slightly pink from the repeated showers. Whatever compound he had put in the water, the boys were calling it supersoap, he had also been covered in. Naturally they took him to be hosed off in the mens room. But the more water they added the more suds they created, until the entire room was quickly filled with suds, then the hall. Few people could manage to look Rodney McKay in the eye and put any blame on him so naturally the glares turned to Henry. Rodney didn't say anything but the amusement in his eyes was obvious as he watched six agents with buckets struggle to keep the suds away from any computer equipment or paper files._

_Now Rodney sat across from Henry in a debriefing room, with several heads of department and a psychologist watching from behind a glass mirror. It wasn't the ideal location for a heart to heart, but Henry had long since realized that Rodney was viewed and treated more as an intelligence asset than a child._

_Henry sighed, "What was that all about?" He remembered how Rodney had climbed down from the fountain and gotten into the car without argument. He'd even waved at a couple of familiar agents on the clean-up crew as they set up barriers, popped bubbles, and bagged any stray camera's they came across._

_Sullen, intelligent eyes blinked silently up at him. Before the kidnapping this boy had been near impossible to shut up. Now he barely said two words to anyone on even his good days._

_When Henry didn't get an answer he ran his fingers through his rumpled hair and sighed again, "You're not even trying to run away anymore. It's like you just want to make trouble. And, you know, I don't get it. Why? Are you just bored?"_

_He looked at Rodney for a reaction, any reaction at all, and received none. "I can't help you if you don't talk."_

_Rodney's only response was to turn his head and glower at the two way mirror._

_Of course they hadn't expected a two way mirror to fool him, they'd just expected him to be used to constant surveillance by now. Then it hit him. That was it. "Obviously, we're not alone. There's people behind that glass watching you right now and you can't see them."_

_The tensing of Rodney's shoulders and the tight crossing of his arms was confirmation that Henry's hunch was right, "That's what you hate. Isn't it?"_

_Rodney turned back away from the window and slouched miserably, "They're always there. I mean, not them specifically. Obviously. But someone always is. When I sleep, when I eat. Someone stands outside the door when I go to the bathroom. I'm constantly monitored, recorded, studied…" The sixteen year old grimaced in particular at the last word._

_Henry was speechless for a moment. Not only was that the most sentences Rodney had strung together in a row since being recovered, it was the first time he'd hinted at remembering anything about the time he was taken._

"_I wish they would just back off a little," Rodney finally confessed. "Give me a break now and then?"_

"_Well," Henry swallowed, now desperately worried that a wrong word could send the boy back into his shell, "I think that's certainly a reasonable request. I'll see what I can do." _

_The phone on the wall rang and Henry silently cursed it. "Excuse me just a moment," he could guess what it was about so he ignored the ringing phone and walked straight into the next room instead._

_Anders huffed irritably and hung up the phone before whispering, "You can't seriously be wasting this opportunity. He mentioned being studied. He's obviously referring to his time at the facility."_

"_He might be," Henry hissed back, "and IF he is he will talk to me more about it when he is ready. This is the most he's spoken in almost a year and with all due respect sirs," he referred to the others in the little room, "I will not put that progress in jeopardy."_

"_I agree with Mr. McCaffrey," the psychologist piped in, "Pushing at this point will only cause him to shut down again."_

"_You can't possibly know that," Anders protested but a sharp look from his superiors cut him short._

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The elder David Anders took a long drink from a glass of lemonade before continuing his monologue, "Henry, the soft hearted fool, didn't realize he was being played of course. They were all being played. Before Phoenix that boy was speaking multiple languages. He learned them with ease. He was brilliant with every piece of science he every touched, not just physics, math and computers. They wanted to believe he just magically forgot it all along with all his experiences? The psychologist suggested brain damage or post traumatic repression. Which he played up by just keeping quiet and refusing to say anything most of the time. If an adult had tried that during an interrogation you can bet we would have made him talk but he just got away with it. Take it from me, he remembered alright. "

Mr. Woolsey frowned grimly at his relaxed interviewee and his surroundings. By agreeing to cooperate fully with the investigations Mr Anders had bargained himself into a comfortable underground safe house, under guard around the clock and waited on hand and foot. This they called a prison. "I take it Mr Fox thought he should be placed with a family?"

"That's right", Anders set his glass down and eased back into his rocking chair. "He never said it but most people though he wanted to take the boy home himself."

"And the eight or more times that he tried to run away didn't indicate to you that he didn't want to work for the CIA?" Woolsey stated flatly, but a hint of accusation was still there in his eyes.

Anders sighed, "As I said, he was just acting out because he could get away with it. He didn't want to be placed with a family, it was whenever it looked like we were seriously considering it that we dragged him back from an airport or some such. He wanted the one thing we were never going to give him, total independence to run amok and pull god knows what frauds on an unsuspecting and unprepared public. At any rate it wasn't my decision. I think I've been clear that I'd prefer he be killed before he could do any more harm. He was out of control. No, the orders to keep him safe and working for the government came from higher up."

The dramatic pause lengthened until it became apparent to Woolsey that he would have to ask, "From who?"

Anders smirked, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I find out where the orders were coming from myself until much later in the game and I had a hard time believing it."

Woolsey leaned forward in his chair, "Try me."

"Dr William Black," Anders watched and waited for a reaction.

For the first time in all of their interviews Richard Woolsey actually laughed, "You're right. I don't believe you." He jotted down a quick note before moving onto his next question, "It was then that he was moved into his own apartment?"

"Dr Black keeps the custody papers that the McKay's signed in his home vault. Check for yourself and see what he has to say about it." Anders regarded Woolsey and sighed when it was clear that line of questioning would not be pursued today, "But yes. We put gave him his own place, he calmed down more then. Stopped running away for a while."

"Yes," Woolsey made a show of flipping back through his notes, "Until he was eighteen, when he apparently gave you and Mr McCaffrey the slip in order to sneak himself into a field operation. Bored again, I suppose?"

The memory was welcomed with a sneer, "The Nobel Prize Ball. We had information that it was being used as an exchange point for some highly sensitive information. We had reliable intelligence pointing to it being planted on a mule without their knowledge."

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_A husky voice sounded out of Rodney's ear piece, "Boy Wonder, this is Old Oak do you copy?"_

_Rodney rolled his eyes and looked at the three walls and curtain in the back of the supposedly inconspicuous black van he was stuck in the back of while the 'real spies' went to the party. Literally. "I really hate that codename. And what's the point, anyway? I mean if the bad guys really are listening in won't cheesy codenames kind of give them a clue that there are other secret agents in the building besides themselves? Wouldn't it be better to develop a code language that makes it sound like they've tuned into a soap opera or a regular telephone call or something?"_

"_No complaining", Oak snapped out of Rodney's ear piece , "You aren't even supposed to be here."_

_Rodney grumbled incoherently then turned his attention to a small bleep from one the monitors displaying the second agents line of sight. Bingo. "Wrinkled Oak or whatever, look over to your right 19.352 degrees."_

"_I still cannot believe you followed us here." The agent complained even as he complied._

"_What's the big deal? I'm staying in the van," Rodney argued, "Can you blame me for wanting to see my stuff in action just once? Besides, you gotta admit these prototypes I brought are pretty cool. You've turned your head too far."_

"_This is Black Ops!" The agent persisted in the futile argument, "In and out without being seen. If we are caught we are disavowed. You should NOT be here."_

"_What's done is done," the more sensible agent, codenamed Willow, interrupted, "Can we focus on the mission please? The worlds top minds are in this room and one of them is being used as a mule without their knowledge."_

"_Not including the top mind stuck in this inconspicuous black spy van outside you mean," Rodney sulked._

"_Are you kidding me?!" Oak spat out, "Is THAT why you followed us here?!"_

"_You complain and you complain and yet you know you'd be lost without me," Rodney practically sang back before dutifully focusing his attention back on the mission. "Oak, you've gone way too far to the right. Look between the punch table and that girl in the red dress with long blonde hair, kinda cute. No don't look at her, look between her and the punch table. There." The monitor bleeped again and Rodney keyed in the confirmation for his newest program to do its job. "Scanning… Yeah, he's had some surgery but that's him for sure, Igor Barasoff. Can you believe his name is Igor?"_

"_You're sure?" The brainless one demanded, for that was how Rodney had now definitely decided to think of him._

"_You doubt my facial recognition software?" Rodney huffed into the radio, "How can you not spot him anyway, the guy like oozes creepy hired goon. Go silent and get closer and I'll see if I can hack us into his digital frequency."_

"_You can do that now?" The other agent, Willow, asked in surprise._

"_Since like last week!" Rodney hissed, "You people really don't read any of the tech briefs I send you, do you?!"_

"_You mean those War and Peace length books that keep piling up on our desks?" Old Oak hissed back right back at him, "The thing about briefs is they're supposed to be brief, genius." _

"_What do you want?" Rodney spat back sarcastically, "the Cat in the Hat version? _

"_Gentlemen", the usually patient woman snapped and enunciated, "Can we focus please?"_

"_Fine! Going silent…" _

_Rodney watched on his monitors as Oak wandered inconspicuously past the bad guy as though on his way to the punch table. He paused right next to him for a few minutes, seemingly to flirt with the woman in the red dress. Rodney willed himself to look away from the monitor and focus on his task. He was listening in on Channel Villain in no time. They were speaking in Russian, big surprise. Spy work really was cliché._

"_We're in." Rodney announced as soon as Oak was at a safe distance and off radio silence, "Or rather, I am. And I've got to say their code names are way cooler than ours."_

"_Learning anything helpful?" Oak sang in an overly patient tone._

"_Yeah", Rodney answered obliviously, too focused now on what he was hearing and on studying his monitors to pick a fight, "whoever he's looking at right now is the mark. His signal is going out to five other people in the building plus a vehicle parked about a block from here. Hey, are our teams always so much smaller than theirs?"_

_Oak ignored the question and dutifully followed the Russian agents line of sight. The truth was the rest of their team was dead and the youth's unplanned arrival had been a godsend. Given the nature of the information they were tracking scrapping the mission had not been an option, neither was failure. Even so, if he did or said anything to encourage the youths actions he was pretty damn sure Henry would kill him. "He would never look directly at his mark while talking about him. But it's good to know he's found what he's looking for. I'll stay on him."_

"_We'll stay on him." Willow corrected in a hushed voice while holding up her champagne glass to hide the movement of her lips. "Who is that small party of delegates leaving the room?"_

_With one glance at her monitor Rodney was able to answer. He'd taken the liberty of committing the entire guest list to memory. "That was Dr Weir. He's a high level diplomat and expert negotiator. The people he just left with are the leaders of a couple of countries that don't get along. Big surprise there. They were both coming to the ceremony anyhow so he's arranged a negotiation. That's not uncommon at events like these. The probability that he's the mole is very low."_

"_Our man is on the move," Oak reported._

"_I see," Willow confirmed from the other side of the ball room. "He's heading in the same direction as Dr Weir."_

"_That would be the conference wing. A map of the building has already been loaded into your watches I'm launching a program to update them with his real time location every 10 seconds…now." Rodney typed furiously as he spoke._

_Oak couldn't help but sound impressed now, "You'll have to show me which tech report that's in later."_

_The two agents checked their watches and sure enough a map like a Pacman screen had replaced the time and a highly unsubtle skull and crossbones moved through the digital halls. Two stationary blinking squares were also prominent. Nice._

"_Where are the other four counteragents?" Willow asked, even as she strolled casually towards one of the three halls that could lead to the conference wing. This one happened to have a conference wing. _

"_You guys want the world on a stick! Don't you?!" Rodney griped at the lack of recognition, "You two are the stationary dots. You haven't been close enough to the others for me to pinpoint their signals. Sorry."_

"_It will have to do," Oak stated, pleased for the opportunity to sound less impressed. He mustn't encourage the runaway teen._

_After about ten minutes they'd tracked their villain to a conference room on the far end of the building and taken up position in a room across the hall._

"_Okay," Rodney brought up the video feed of Igor's room, "He's in there alone, the halls are empty...well this is anticlimactic."_

"_Patience," Willow admonished._

"_He's going the phone! It's an internal call…to Dr Weir's conference room!" Rodney moved over to his switch board, pulled a wire and flipped a switch, "I'm patching the feed into our earpieces."_

"_Dr Weir," a cliché accent in a deep, over enunciated voice sounded out, "Unless you cooperate fully your daughter is about to be assassinated. My men are in the Ball Room observing her as we speak. Bring your Ambassador Velsnik to conference room three without hesitation."_

_Rodney flipped the switch back and replaced the wire, "Did you get that? Velsnik had dental work done last month. I bet they've planted a chip in his false tooth. That is so old school."_

"_Yes, we got it." Oak confirmed._

"_I'm heading back to the conference room now," Willow announced tightly. Rodney could see her walking briskly towards the door._

_He shook his head, even though neither of them could see him. He'd already stripped out of his pocketed vest and tool belt and down to his basic black trousers and shirt, and opened the back door of the van. "I'm already on my way."_

"_What?" Both agents barked out at once, "Wait." "No you don't" "Stay"._

_The van door closed and secured, Rodney pocketed the keys and smirked as he jogged up the parking lot of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences. "I can't hear you!" Rodney sang back at the protesting agents, "Breaking up. Oh well." Rodney imagined that the snow crunching under his shoes might sound like static. Without missing a step he lifted a black suit jacket out of the back of a Ferrari where a couple were too busy making out to notice. He even took half a second use their mirror in an awkward attempt to tidy his mass of floppy curls. He finally looked his age, but he thought his face was too thin and his eyes too large. On his way up the steps he bumped into another guest and apologized sincerely as he pocketed their invitation, all the while ignoring the plaintive requests, coming through his earpiece, that he get back into the van._

"_He's ignoring us," Oak stated obviously, "This is why we should never ever recruit teenagers."_

_Hurrying to the door he suddenly realized that the guys at the door were likely matching faces to invitations and he had to get through before the guy he lifted it off of realized it was gone, which would not be long. Then he saw it, his real ticket in. "Holy cow, you're __Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar!" _

_Rodney bounded straight up to one of the most highly honored guests and started walking in alongside him. _

"_Hello young man," the scientist looked down in mild surprise. His fans were usually a fair bit older, and tamer._

"_Your __quantum theory of the negative ion of hydrogen was awesome, way ahead of its time." Rodney gushed._

_The scientists eyebrows shot up at this, "They're teaching that in schools these days!?"_

"_My, uh, Dad explained it to me. He's already inside, he just sent me out to pick up his notepad from the car. He's always noting down new theories and usually doesn't go anywhere without it." Rodney was sure say that loudly enough for the doormen to hear, and sure enough he passed right through with a quick wave of the invitation. They'd barely even looked at it. "I have some thoughts on your black hole mathematics though. Maybe I can run it past you later?"_

"_Uh, of course," the scientist stammered out even as the young man hurried off. "Huh," he thought out loud, "Must be older than he looks."_

"_Ok, you had your fun." Oaks voice buzzed irritatingly in his ear, "Now go back to the van… Are you listening to me?"_

_Rodney checked his watch. The entire infiltration had taken two and a half minutes. Not bad. He wasted no time in heading to the back of the ball room, where he'd already pinpointed Dr Weir's daughter, Elizabeth, on the video feed. Sure enough she was standing where she'd been all night playing the perfect wall flower in her royal blue gown. She was dazzling with her short hair pinned up, her eyes shining, and her complete oblivion to the overdressed thugs closing in on her on either side._

"_Elizabeth!" Rodney gasped breathlessly as he reached her, "Um er, I mean Miss Weir."_

"_You are NOT in the ball room." Agent Oak stated stupidly. Obviously he was in the ball room._

"_Hello," Elizabeth furrowed her brows, uncertain of this strange boy who had suddenly thrust himself out of the crowd at her._

_Rodney worked his mouth for a moment, his voice catching as he suddenly realized he'd never actually spoken to a girl before. Certainly not like this at least. Then he spotted the two villains, who had paused in surprise at his sudden appearance, now with greater determination and speed. "Dance with me," it came out as more of a blurt than a polite invitation but it would do._

"_This is unbelievable." Agent Oak exclaimed into his ear. "If you survive I'm going to kill you."_

_But it really wasn't registering with Rodney who was busy dealing with the combined adrenaline rush of thugs closing in on two sides, and the most heart stopping smile he'd ever encountered face to face._

"_I don't even know your name." Elizabeth answered coyly. The boys clumsy request was so furtive it was cute._

"_Miss Weir. Your father is asking after you." One of the thugs said simply as soon as he approached earshot, and held out an expectant hand._

_Elizabeth looked that the stranger doubtfully, "In the middle of his negotiation?" _

_She didn't have time to hear the answer as Rodney grabbed her hand and tugged her into the crowd, "My name's Rodney."_

_Elizabeth knew she should probably be more offended than curious, but something about this boy made her the opposite. So she followed. "That was very rude, you know."_

"_Do you know that guy?" Rodney asked bluntly._

"_No." Elizabeth answered honestly._

_Rodney weaved her through the crowd, tugging her towards the center of the room, "Then you shouldn't be talking to him." _

"_I don't know you either though," Elizabeth pointed out quite accurately._

"_I told you my name," Rodney answered pedantically. He quickly took in the position and dance steps of three of the nearest couples. One hand on her waist, the other on her shoulder, and step... The mathematical sequences and progressions were simple enough to follow. He guided her in a circle to get a view of the surrounding room. There was an enemy agent at three walls, watching in frustration. There was no way they could get at her while she was in such a prominent position in the room. Of course, that still left Rodney totally surrounded and at a loss of what to do._

"_You should loosen up," Elizabeth said out of the blue. "Your shoulders are tense."_

"_U-uh," Rodney stuttered, "Sorry."_

_Elizabeth furrowed her brows again. This boys mood seemed to switch from overconfident and brash to nervous and stuttering fast and often. Now that he had her here he was also spending more time looking at the rest of the room than at her. "Maybe we should move back to the side of the room." Elizabeth suggested. He seemed to be more confident there._

_Rodney looked at all sides again, where he now saw only two of three agents waiting with menacing patience. He had to think of something to keep her there. "Are you nervous out here? I would have thought a pretty girl like you would be used to being the centre of attention."_

"_Um, thank you," It was Elizabeth's turn to stutter. In truth, high political players were usually the center of attention at the events she attended with her father._

_Rodney smiled broadly at her, pleased about having apparently said the right thing with barely any time to think it through._

"_That's good," Willow admonished breathlessly, "Keep her in the crowds. I'm almost there."_

"_Where's my daughter?" the desperate question rung in Rodney's earpiece._

"_I've secured the diplomat," Agent Oak explained then consoled Dr Weir, "She is safe and with one of our agents in the ballroom."_

_It was then that the fire alarm went off._

"_This is not good," Rodney pronounced as he watched the guests flood out of the front doors in an orderly manner while the would-be abductors pushed their way in towards their target._

_Elizabeth sighed. She'd actually been having fun for once. "I know it's usually false alarms but we'd better go out with everyone else."_

"_Keep her in that room. Stay contained. Do not go out that door." Oak barked with stern desperation._

"_I need you to trust me," Rodney blurted at her seemingly out of nowhere with a furtive urgency._

_Elizabeth blinked, not knowing how to take that, "What why? Why?" _

_Her brow did that cute furrow again and Rodney felt his heart skip, coupled with the stress of the thugs rounding in on them he would forever remember it as his first small heart attack. Rodney cleared his throat and squeaked out, "Because those guys are trying to kidnap you."_

_She turned her head around, looked straight at one of the guys closing in and the cloud of oblivion finally lifted, "Oh my god."_

_The three thugs were now the only ones left in the room as the doors closed, and Rodney was willing to bet that the doormen he'd passed were in on it. "Run!" Rodney barked and darted straight for one of the guys. This was definitely not in his plan. He really hoped the agent codenamed Willow really was there within the next minute. He pushed her past himself and towards the thug that had taken up a football tacklers stance, ready to grab her. Rodney made a spider man hand and aimed his wrist straight at the thugs face. A fluid spat out of his sleeve and straight into the guys face; his own special concentrated pepper spray, never before field tested. The thug screamed and covered his eyes just in time for Elizabeth to duck past him. "Keep running for the punch table," he called after her._

_She reached the punch table before realizing that Rodney hadn't followed, and turned in time to see him tackled to the ground and being strangled. The remaining thug still marched towards her as she screamed at the one on Rodney, "Get off of him!" _

_A look of surprise was shared between she and the thug approaching her when the one on Rodney immediately released his grip and tipped to one side leaving Rodney to rasp and scramble towards Elizabeth. Rodney quickly stood and repocketed an unassuming pen._

_The remaining thug gritted his teeth in frustration and charged towards them with renewed determination._

"_Under the table!" Rodney rasped painfully and tugged her down and under with him. Together they tipped the table over, sending a flood of punch and broken under the thug._

_From the cover of the table they could hear the thug cursing as he slipped and fell heavily. Rodney peeked over the table, hardly believing that it had worked. Just as the thug braced his hand in the still flowing puddle to stand up, Rodney stood and aimed his other wrist at the puddle. He pressed a button under his shirt sleeved and a tazer wire shot out. The thug tensed and his eyes bulged as he shook uncontrollably._

"_Enough!" A russian accent, thickened by anger, roared at Rodney. The click of a gun being cocked echoed loudly in the empty ball room. "How old are you boy? Who hires a child to do a mans work? Answer me!"_

_Rodney froze, his breath caught in his swollen throat. He had no idea where this guy had come from but he did know that he was well beyond over his head. It was then that one of the hall doors clattered open and the final thug was distracted by a single gunshot wound to the head. _

_The woman agent, Willow, jogged towards him, her long black hair damp with sweat, "Are either of you hurt?"_

"_I think I'm ok." Elizabeth squeaked in shock, still to shaken from the entire ordeal to stand._

"_Me," Rodney was going to say him too but the first word cracked and his voice disappeared on the second word._

"_The one that looks like he's sleeping strangled him," Elizabeth explained weakly._

_Willow pulled aside Rodney's collar and grimaced, "Don't speak."_

_Oak stormed through another set of doors, followed closely by Ambassadors Weir and Velsnik. The two Ambassadors paused to take in the devastation, but Oak charged straight for Rodney. The irate agents complexion had actually achieved a state of red that was brighter than his flaming hair and goatee, "Stay in the van! Stay in the VAN! STAY IN THE VAN! Which part of that is not clear!?"_

_Rodney gulped and smirked nervously down at Elizabeth, who had yet to peek out from behind the table, "I'm supposed to stay in the van," he explained hoarsely._

"_So I gather," Elizabeth replied shakily, grateful for the light humor to diffuse her nerves._

"_Lizzie?!" Ambassador Weir called out in desperation when he didn't immediately see his daughter._

"_I'm here," Elizabeth waved her hand and braced herself to stand but soon found it impossible under the weight of her father hugging her, "Dad, I'm ok... Really… I'd like to stand up now please."_

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"_Wait a minute! Hold on," a dumbfounded, slack jawed look hung on the face of the bureaucrat, "You mean to tell me that Dr Rodney McKay and Dr Elizabeth Weir actually met long before the Stargate Program even existed? That's amazing! What are the odds?"_

_It was Anders turn to throw a look of condescension, " Not as low as you'd think. This planets population may be enormous but the circle of influence is small. Global intelligence agencies tend influence this circle and in turn be influenced by it. The CIA is certainly no exception. The miracle is that he failed to encounter anyone of influence who would identify him and bare him ill will. Why do you think we were so adamant about keeping him out of sight? Henry was furious."_

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"_I thought I did pretty good for my first time out." Rodney's voice was no louder than a mutter, his throat too sore to be any louder. His facial expression spoke volumes, though, as he glowered in distaste at the all too familiar two-way mirrored debriefing room, with disrespect at anyone standing behind the two way mirror, with rage at the entire situation._

"_First?!" Henry leaned forward and jabbed the table with his index finger, "That was the LAST time you go out on assignment."_

_Rodney leaned straight back, making a show of how not intimidated he was, "What else are you going to do, keep me locked away in the basement of Langley for the rest of my life?! Or is that just when I'm not holed up in that apartment up the street from the Pentagon surrounded by all those fake freak neighbors?"_

_The enraged youth swallowed painfully after the short monologue and Henry shoved a frozen fruit juice and notepad towards him, "Don't talk, write."_

_Henry paused while Rodney took a drink and then returned to glowering at his handler, "You're not a field agent. You're a Science and Technology Asset." Oh that deepened the glower. Henry narrowed his eyes firmly in return, "That means you know what our best technology is, hell you develop it! You're the guy we call when we need something hacked or decoded. The bad guys aren't supposed to know who's hacking their systems and cracking their codes. It puts you at risk. It puts us at risk."_

"_You'd rather I'd let her die?!" Rodney spat out in a hoarse whisper._

_Henry stood in frustration and made a futile gesture at the notepad and pen that Rodney was supposed to be using for this discussion, "I'd rather your face remain off public record. I'd rather you had never been out there in SWEDEN in the first place. How did you even get there?"_

"_The clean up crew wiped the camera's," Rodney evaded._

_Two fists were planted hard on the table in front of Rodney, and Henry had a small measure of satisfaction when the stubborn youth jumped in his seat, "Those agents you helped take down were wired for sound and video. You think they didn't have a tech van backing them up, someone receiving those signals."_

_Rodney looked away, "You're over-reacting."_

"_You put yourself at risk," Henry countered._

_Rodney sighed and looked plaintively up at his handler, "I can't hide forever."_

_Dammit. Henry hated that look, and the fact it was working on him forced him to look away and grit his teeth. He paced to make it look like he was just angrier, "Hey, if you want to go out and see a movie I'll arrange it. Hell, if you want to go to the mall I'll issue you a credit card and security detail you won't even notice. But you do not put yourself into the line of fire or even into line of sight on a mission or any situation that will connect you with the CIA."_

"_Yeah right," Rodney dripped all the sarcasm he could muster with his damaged voice, " I'll call up my friends and we'll all go clubbing."_

_Ouch. He could not even pretend to stay angry at that. Henry sighed in defeat and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. He hadn't slept from the moment Rodney had given them the slip again to the moment his helicopter had landed on Langley._

"_Face it," Rodney persisted, sensing his weakness. "This work is all I have and the only way I'm going to get out and see anything is on Field ops."_

"_No, that's not true." Henry stated firmly but with none of his previous anger, "You have options and the only way you keep those options open is by protecting your identity."_

_The young would-be agents only response was to shoot his handler a disbelieving look, the two way mirror a distrustful look, and proceed to slouch sullenly in his chair and shut out the world. Henry hated it when he got like that. It could last for weeks at a time._

_He slid back into the chair across from Rodney and tried to slide back into his line of sight, "It is not my goal to make you miserable. You know that. But you are not and will not ever be a field agent. This stunt absolutely cannot precipitate a pattern." _

_If this event was going to become a habit Henry swore he was going to have a nervous breakdown and wind up a dribbling shell of a man. Rodney's total lack of response was not encouraging. If he'd learned anything from 'handling' Rodney McKay it was that unless you came to some mutual understanding he would do whatever the hell he wanted and nobody would be able to stop him. Henry shook his head and rolled his eyes to the heavens as though seeking some divine inspiration, "I don't know Rodney. I don't know what you need. Help me out here. Help me to help you."_

_He was met with silence. It was time to bring out the big gun, "I didn't want to have to do this, Rodney, but here." Henry took a the folder he'd set on the corner of the table and set it directly in front of Rodney, "Go on. Take a look."_

_The youth narrowed his eyes suspiciously and lifted the cover of the folder. The contents were met with a grimace and he dropped the folder closed before redirecting a sardonic look on Henry, "What, is that supposed to scare me? Like those anti-smoking, anti-drinking, anti-drug, anti-sex, anti-living video's you made me watch?"_

"_Yes, Rodney, it's supposed to scare you," Henry answered with total honesty. "Those are pictures of the rest of the seven man team you crashed in Stockholm. They were killed before you got there, that's why only two agents actually made it to the Dec 10__th__ Nobel Prize Celebration."_

_The revelation was met with stunned silence rather than sullen silence. Henry reached across the table, opened the folder, and spread the pictures across the table as he spoke. "These two were supposed to take the place of the doormen but the other side beat them to it. The team tech man was unlucky enough to be with them at the time. This one was supposed to remain in the van as support to the tech man and this one was supposed stay in the ball room."_

_It was Rodney's turn to get up from the table and pace away, "So my choices are go out and die or never live?!"_

"_No, Rodney. I am trying to tell you that you have other options!" Henry stood gestured at the table as he rounded on Rodney with fervency, "That is not life. Fieldwork is not life. Life is, is…" _

_Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a heavy knock on the briefing room door. Henry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before turning to open the door and snapping an angry, "What?!" into the hall. _

"_I thought you should see this sir," a calm voice answered simply and set a folder into Henry's hands. _

_Henry raised his eyebrows and quickly scanned the document before offering a tame thank you and closing the door. He stood there, flipping through the document for a minute more before turning his attention back to Rodney. "Sit down Rodney."_

_The document received a suspicious frown but Rodney complied._

_Henry took another few moments to regard Rodney before speaking, "You know what I think. I think you're acting out because the one thing you want to do you've convinced yourself you can't do."_

_Rodney rolled his eyes and sneered, but with none of his previous venom, "Don't try to figure out my head, you'll just hurt yourself."_

"_That I believe," Henry chuckled, "But this time…"_

_Henry handed the report freely over and waited while Rodney glanced briefly at the first page then back at Henry and the window with fear. The document detailed conversations that Rodney had been having covertly with his sister. Henry had expected perhaps a bit of embarrassment, maybe more anger, but he had not expected fear. "Hey," Henry pulled Rodney's attention back from the window, "What are you worried about? You're not disallowed from contacting your family. You know that, don't you?"_

_Rodney's only response was to purse his lips and glance worriedly back at the window._

"_Hey, would you forget about that window? That room is empty. This is me you're talking to. Don't believe me?" Henry picked up a chair and threw it through the two way mirror, revealing the empty room beyond. He opened the briefing room door long enough to snap out at a shocked looking agent, "We're fine!" and slammed the door closed again._

_Henry turned his attention back to Rodney, "What is it you want, Rodney? We know she's having trouble getting the money together for University. We can fix that easily. You don't have to sneak around contacting her either. You want to talk to your sister right now I'll get you a phone in here. Anytime. Would you like her to come visit for awhile or to visit her? There'd be security, of course. But I can get some special guys in who can stay out of sight. You want to improve your life? Fine. Let's do it." _

"_I'd like to go to University with my sister," answered simply, his eyes transfixed on the wild haired man._

_The request was answered with a smile that quickly broadened into a satisfied grin, "Well ok then. How about we got get you some ice cream or something for that throat?"_

"_Ok," Rodney stood immediately and let Henry guide him out of the room; like he was going to argue with a man who had just thrown a chair through a window. _

"_So, I kind've freaked you out, huh?"_

"_You have no idea."_

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"It boggles my mind that that giving him whatever he wanted was their idea of 'handling' that spoiled brat." Anders shook his head in dismay.

"You and I have very different ideas of how to spoil a person," Woolsey muttered. "At any rate it sounds like that should have been all's well that ends well. He had an opportunity to reconnect with his family. He was meeting and interacting with people his own age. The record shows that he more than excelled academically, and yet the record also shows that left fairly abruptly. His professors and friends claim he disappeared one night and sent word that he'd been head hunted to take part in a cutting edge research project. Is that really what happened or is there something more to that story?"

"Yeah, there's more," the old man answered grimly, "It all went to hell. That's what."

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_Blood soaked the floor surrounding his roommate's corpse. Lifeless eyes stared up from a face frozen in shock; two bullet wounds in the chest, one in the head, and one hole through the window. Rodney's photographic memory snapped it all in the seconds between him opening the door and being tackled away from the room by a heavy body. He felt the bullet whiz over his head as though in slow motion and a hand clamp over his mouth to stifle his cry of terror._

"_Calm down Rodney. It's me. Calm down," the familiar voice admonished. Henry, in full black BDU's, quickly scrambled up and pulled Rodney to his feet and down the hall. "Your identity has been compromised. We're pulling you out now."_

"_I was working late on a project and fell asleep in the lab," Rodney whispered in disbelief, "That was supposed to be me. Oh god, Robbie!" He turned back, only to be forcibly turned around again and frogmarched to the rear exit._

"_Jeannie?!" Rodney squeaked and needlessly clarified, "My sister"._

"_She's safe. She eloped, remember? She is nowhere near campus and we've retrospectively altered all of her school records, among other things, to Jeannie Miller. Even her new passport is in the mail along with some story about her winning a newlywed draw to get it free. Jeannie McKay never existed. They won't connect her to you and she'll have had the most headache free last name change in the history of modern America. " Henry scanned the outer exit defensively before tugging Rodney out behind him, "Of course, if she ever gets divorced she's screwed."_

"_Are you sure?" Rodney whispered with an air of desperation._

" _We're sure," Henry whispered firmly, "Now focus on you. You're the one in danger right now so do exactly as I say."_

_The third year University youth nodded, his eyes darting furtively around in search of danger as he turned in the direction he was expecting they'd go in. He was surprised when Henry tugged him in the opposite direction, "Where are we going?"_

"_Extraction point Epsilon", Henry answered grimly and hastened in the new direction._

"_Epsilon?!" Rodney hissed, "What happened to Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta?"_

"_Compromised," Henry answered simply; far too simply for the magnitude of the statement._

_Whether the blood suddenly rushed to or from Rodney's head he suddenly felt feint. The images he'd seen of the Stockholm team flashed unbidden through his mind, "But that means..."_

"_Don't think about it." Henry snapped, "Just keep moving. Steady pace. Don't draw attention."_

_Rodney replied with a quiver, "If I wet myself in terror will that draw attention?"_

"_Keep that sense of humour," Henry tossed over his shoulder, "You'll need it." _

"_Who's kidding?" Rodney squeaked._

_Suddenly Henry stopped in his tracks and lowered his head the way he did when he was listening to his earpiece. " New plan, Omicron."_

_Rodney paled, "Oh god. Oh god."_

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Richard Woolsey leaned forward on the edge of his seat, all composure forgotten, "Well what did that mean?!"

"What you need to understand is normal extraction points don't go that high and we only had recorded up to Kappa. Had he been going to one of those an operative and support team would have been waiting to escort the two of them to a secure safe house to wait for transfer. Anything after Kappa is arranged by the handler by word of mouth on a need to know basis only. Meaning that only himself, the field agent or in this case McKay, and the helicopter pilot that he handpicked knew about it. It's rare but not unheard of for a handler to have that kind of fallback. To have to use it is all but unheard of." Anders licked his lips and paused to see that Woolsey was following.

"And?!" Woolsey demanded impatiently.

"And," the elderly ex-agent mimicked, "At this point we had to assume that the list was somehow compromised and that any operative we had waiting at those extraction points were dead. As it turns out it was the right call."

Woolsey narrowed his eyes accusingly at the unscrupulous old man, "Did you leak the list?"

That was just plain offensive to Anderson. "I did not. Whatever else you may think of me I love this country and would never do anything to cause harm to my fellow servicemen unless it was absolutely necessary. The KGB figured out how we were suddenly breaking all their codes so fast and outdoing their field tech. They figured taking him out would solve alot of their problems in one quick strike so they sent in a whole black ops team. Our mistake was over using him. Even in University we were consulting with him in any spare time he had. I may have wanted the boy dead but that wasn't my call and I certainly didn't want the Russians doing it."

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"_Move quickly," Henry barked, no longer interested in looking natural._

_Rodney followed his line of sight up the alley leading to extraction point Epsilon where the street light glinted off a red puddle dripping out of a rusty old dumpster. Henry grabbed his arm and propelled him forward, placing himself between Rodney and the alley in time for a single shot to whisper through the air. He shoved Rodney around the side of the building and drew his own weapon faster than Rodney could blink. Henry shot wildly in the direction of the shooter as he took cover behind the dumpster. "Run, I'll cover you."_

"_No. We can take him out and go together." Rodney peeked around the side of the building and saw blood trickling down Henry's leg, but he quickly had to withdraw his head to avoid the gunfire. "You were hit?!"_

"_Do NOT do that again!" Henry barked with an air of desperation. "They're after you, not me. You can't even fire a gun. If you stay here you will only get in my way. YOU have to run. You know where you're going. Now go. RUN!"_

_Rodney closed his eyes and focused. The quick glance around the corner was all he needed to commit the scene to photographic memory. He zeroed in on the flash of light high up on of the building. That would be from the shooters gun as he fired at Rodney. He knew that building and he knew what was inside it. His mind made up he ran down the street and another alley towards the building with the shooter._

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"But that's insane!" Woolsey protested as though all this hadn't already happened years ago and a much older McKay hadn't very obviously survived the ordeal.

"Yes," Anders agreed, "and yet that's what CCTV footage shows he did. Is it really necessary to interrupt so often?"

"But what did he hope to accomplish," the straight tied, bespectacled desk agent spoke as someone who'd rarely been in a position to consider rash action.

The seasoned veteran rolled his eyes, "He pulled the fire alarm to evacuate any civilians, remotely dialled up the temperature on all floors to maximum and cut power to the top floor where there was apparently some sort of highly volatile substance being stored at sub zero temperature. Since heat rises it didn't take long for the temperature of the substance to drop substantially below zero and, well, boom."

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_The blast echoed across the school grounds, breaking the early morning silence. Henry peeked out from behind the dust bin and gawked for a moment before quickly and quietly hobbling out from cover. He exited the alleyway to see a strange sinister looking men with guns also gawking at the burning building. The man must have been closing in on Henry from behind. He casually lifted his side arm and shot the bad-guy between the eyes before he was noticed. "That's for trying to kill my kid."_

"_Gotten a little attached, have you?" the harsh, familiar voice of Anders quipped through the radio._

_Henry leaned against the building to take the weight off his injured leg. Students and faculty were rousing out of the dorms now, drawn by the sound of the explosion and the now nearing fire truck sirens. "Where is he?"_

"_We don't know." Anders answered grimly. "All our eyes are down. We have to assume that he's heading to the location. You're in no shape to catch up with him. Get yourself out of there."_

_A passing fire truck slowed and pulled over. Henry recognized them as part of the clean-up team. There would be no bodies for todays papers._

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_The sun hung too high in the air. Rodney was acutely aware of how visible this made him as he walked into Belle Island Reservation. He was tired by now, being unable to sustain that level of terror, and his feet were aching. He also reasoned that if he'd been followed he'd be dead by now. He plodded into the marsh and towards the river where, as expected, a seaplane waited with a pilot that Rodney recognized from a photograph Henry had showed him. The pilot was actively scanning the surrounding area, along with a small number of masked men who quickly approached and surrounded Rodney. They quickly loaded him into the plane and started the engine without a word._

"_Wait, what about Henry?" Rodney protested. We have to wait for him._

_The pilot turned his head just slightly, "If he's not here with you then he's not coming. That was the arrangement."_

_Rodney tried to stand but was briskly sat back down and strapped into his seat, "Hey! But wait, is he alright?"_

"_I don't know. We are radio silent and we are going to stay radio silent until we reach our destination." The plane picked up speed over the water and they were in the air before Rodney could protest further._

"_Where am I going?" Rodney ventured as he looked around at the masked men. They probably weren't allowed to be seen or heard, which probably meant they were hard as nails super secret agents rather than run of the mill agents._

"_You've been on the run all night. Get some sleep. You'll see when we get there." After that the pilot flew in silence._

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"He was taken directly to Area 51 where he remained for the next fifteen years. Back then it was the single most secure facility that this government had. It was so secure that it was a considered a myth. This way McKay stayed safe and he stayed a national asset. Best of all from my point of view is he was contained. Everyone was happy."

The stuffy bureaucrat had settled back in his seat now that the tale had returned to familiar ground. That McKay had spent years at Area 51 was well know, at least among individuals who were authorized to know of its existence. "Was McKay happy to remain there?"

"He made do," the old man shrugged, "There were no other options. He cooled his heals in their lowest levels for about a week before I headed out to debrief him. No one at the base was authorized to speak to him until then. I made sure he understood his situation."

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"_Thirteen people," Anders shook his head and sneered, "Good men and women are dead because you just had to go to University. It was obviously a bad idea but you were just a boy, they said. You needed a taste of real life."_

_The young man regarded him silently with unsettling blue eyes. David had to remind himself how dangerous this 'person' could be. _

"_Well," Anders asked with cruel nonchalance, "How did it taste?"_

_The expressive blue eyes darted away from the agent and around to anything else in the sparse room, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."_

"_No, of course not," the agent replied more gently, "Well, whatever you did, however you were careless, however they found you it hardly matters now, does it? What's done is done."_

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"Wait a minute," Woolsey protested, "I thought you said it was the agencies fault for over using him."

"That's right," Anders acknowledged, "but what McKay didn't know wouldn't enable him. The point was for him to stay put."

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_Rodney crumpled, his shoulders slumping even further as he buried his head in his hands until only a fistful of curls remained, "What's going to happen?"_

"_You're staying underground, deep underground," Anders continued mercilessly, "You're going to stay here for as long as it takes for the KGB to forget you ever existed or to stop caring that you existed. You will not put any more people at risk by pulling any of your usual runaway stunts. You will not covertly or overtly contact anyone that you know by internet, telephone, letter, or any other means because that would put them and yourself at risk. It's time for you to grow up. Is that understood?"_

"_Yeah," Rodney whispered without lifting his head._

"_I can't hear you," Anders barked._

_Rodney lifted his head and enunciated, "Yes sir."_

_Anders allowed himself a small smirk at proving himself right. He'd always told Henry he was coddling the asset and a firmer hand was needed. But the smirk faltered and vanished when he looked at the young man now sitting straight backed in front of him. There was a deadness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. A thick, emotionless shell surrounded him. Anders cleared his throat before speaking again, "Good. That's good. You just hang in there. This place isn't so bad..."_

"_Your platitudes aren't necessary," Rodney interrupted flatly, "Was Henry one of the thirteen?"_

"_No," Anders answered and stood. He suddenly had a powerful need to get out there, "No he's going to be fine. But he won't be visiting."_

_He opened the door before Rodney could ask any more questions and waved in a thin, wild haired, white moustached man in a lab coat, "He's all yours."_

_The scientist nodded approached McKay, holding out his hand in greeting, "Welcome to Area 51, young man. Come, I'll introduce you to some of the staff you'll be working with."_

"_That won't be necessary," Rodney answered coldly and ignored the proffered hand, "Haven't you heard? I'm a valuable 'asset'. You've already wasted a week of my time. I work best alone, so just show me my lab and let me get to work."_

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"So you completely isolated him." It was a statement rather than a question.

The elderly man shifted in his seat, a bare hint of regret in the motion, "For his own good and the good of those around him, yes."

"And Henry sanctioned this?" Woolsey asked without inflection.

"Henry was too close to the entire situation. It wasn't hard to make the decision makers see that he'd lost focus. Also we had every reason to believe that the Russians knew that he had been McKay's handler. He was taken off the case and ordered to stay away from Area 51 and not contact him." The old man blinked and let his head rest against the back of his chair. He was clearly exhausted from the long discussion, but still he continued, "Twelve years later he had his first invitation to Cheyenne Mountain. He was sent on a consult to Russia before being transferred back to Area 51 briefly, and then to the base in Antarctica where Dr Weir, with very little effort, lured him into the Pegasus Galaxy where he has remained since."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One – Ghosts

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A cool evening breeze wafted through the Miller Family home in southern Canada. Little Madison Miller was tucked warmly into her bed, comfortable and safe, her favorite stuffed bunny cuddled close to her chin. Downstairs, in the family room, Caleb Miller sat in his favorite chair, reading one of his many favorite classic novels; comforted by the sounds of his wife, Jeannie Miller, practicing her hobby in the next room. Jeannie stood at the kitchen table, rummaging through old boxes, and very occasionally finding an old photograph and setting it aside. She blew a long blond curl out of her face with a frustrated huff.

Scrapbooking was supposed to be relaxing. It was meant to be creative and fun. To Jeannie Miller a family scrap book had much more sentimental value than a plain old photo album. Jeannie had made four scrap books so far. The first one she made was of Madison's life up until now. The cover had a picture of Madison the day she was born framed lovingly in pink ribbon. Her first set of little baby shoes, hand knitted by Jeannie's mother, decorated the top left hand corner.

Jeannie had also made a wedding scrap book, a scrapbook of family life with both Caleb and Madison, and finally she had made a scrapbook of her mother and fathers marriage and early life together. Making each of them had given her time to meditate on the people and relationships that mattered to her most. Family was important to Jeannie. In the end it was family who knew each other the most fully, loved each other no matter what, and passed that bond to future generations. Each scrapbook was an expression of that truth. That's how scrapbooking was supposed to be. But instead, her current project had her feeling disturbed, upset, and generally frustrated.

Making a scrapbook of her brother should have been easy. The pathetically short stack of photographs attested to otherwise. There were a few family portraits. There was a small number of birthday pictures of his first, second, and third birthday. They looked happy then. Home pictures from that point became scarce. Then there were some school portraits, of the sort that were mandatory for year books. But after the age of twelve there was just nothing. Once he'd been sent to that boarding school Meredith had completely cut ties with the family. He never wrote. So she supposed she shouldn't be surprised that he hadn't furnished the family with any pictures. She didn't even know the name of the school. From the time that he left for boarding school, to the time when he rematerialized to attend University with her, Jeannie McKay really had no idea what her brothers life had been. Did he have any girlfriends? Did he join in any school sports? Was he in any science fairs? What sorts of comments did his teachers write on his work? Was he happy? She had the impression that he hadn't liked it there very much. He must have hated it, because he never talked about it. Not that he ever talked about anything beyond whatever new physics theory he was working on.

That eight year childhood gap was an unacceptable blemish preceded by nine years of little but school portraits. The school portraits left her unsettled too. She knew that Mer' and their parents hadn't gotten along well. Mer' was never a family person, even when young. And Dad had said that Mer' never had any friends to invite over to the house because he was always lording his intelligence over them and speaking in ways that they couldn't understand. It was because of such warnings from her father that Jeannie had tried so very hard not to make the same mistakes. Of course, Meredith was convinced to this day that their parents hated his intelligence, no matter how many times she tried to explain to him about alienating people and pointed out how much encouragement she'd had from them to push herself to get into a good school once she reached high school, and even how pleased their father had been when the two of them went to MIT. Even while they were at MIT together Mer' had stubbornly refused to see their parents.

After she'd gotten married he'd just dropped off the face of the earth all over again. That had broken her heart. Years later he sent her a few e-mails, but when she told him she was pregnant the e-mails stopped. Now he used the excuse that he was in Russia, and then Antarctica. But she could tell that was just a bad excuse. It's not like he was in another galaxy, like now when he actually was managing to contact her! Four years later he showed up on her doorstep with flowers and beamed her aboard a spaceship, and now they were exchanging e-mails again. But how long would that last before he returned to the pattern of ghosting in and out of her life?

She picked up a picture of Meredith sitting on Dad's knee. Robert McKay had died only two months ago, but even before then Mer' had referred to their father, because of his senility, as though he were already dead. For the final six years of his life their father would spend half the time talking about how wonderful she was and how difficult her brother was, though he would never recognize her when she was there. The other half of the time he spent asking after Mer', convinced that he was in danger, and apologizing for something. Meredith never even visited once. He hadn't visited their mother when she was alive either, but that was just how Meredith had always been.

The memory of her last visit with their father still stung.

"_Where is he?" the elderly man looked around in confused distress. "Where have they taken him?"_

_He tried to get up, but he was too weak. Jeannie gently pushed her father back down onto the bed, "Meredith is alright Dad. Nobody's taken him."_

"_Well, where is he then?" he snapped at the strange woman. She didn't know what she was talking about. How could she?_

"_He can't come Dad. He's working. But I'm here," she soothed, hoping he might recognize her this time._

_At that his eyes filled with sorrow, "No, he's too young to work."_

"_He's all grown up now," Jeannie explained patiently._

"_He's gone," the elderly man mourned, "We didn't want to let him go. But we had to keep our little girl safe. She was always so much quieter. Such a good girl, so well behaved. He was so strong willed."_

"_They're both safe," she took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly._

"_He was a mistake!" He squeezed her hand furtively and pulled her closer as though to whisper a secret, "He wasn't normal. He couldn't be normal. I didn't want to let him go but we had to protect Jeannie. He drew too much attention. They might have taken her too!"_

_He'd never said that before. It caught Jeannie by surprise and his urgency demanded that she try to understand, "Who might have taken me, I mean Jeannie?"_

_Suddenly he snatched his hand away and yelled angrily, "You're one of them! Go on, take him! He's a nuisance anyway! Not at all like our Jeannie."_

_Unable to take it anymore, Jeannie stood and left the room. She took a moment to collect herself before going to the waiting room to find Caleb and Madison._

_With one look at his wife's face Caleb knew that Maddie wouldn't be visiting Grand-dad today. He gathered her up and slung her flowery satchel of toys and snacks over his shoulder, "Grand-dad isn't feeling well today honey."_

"_Awwww," her eyes brimmed with tears of disappointment. Even though he didn't know who she was, on his good days he would give her sweeties and told her stories._

"_How about we take Mom for ice-cream instead," he suggested. Jeannie looked like she could use a hot-fudge Sunday._

It had left her with uncomfortable questions. She'd told herself that it was pointless to worry herself over the rambling nightmares of a withering mind. But now, looking at how little she actually knew about the school that had whisked her brother away so long ago. She found she couldn't stop thinking about it and her eyes welled up with tears.

A familiar warmth appeared on her shoulder, and she reached up to hold her husband's hand.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, "You know, honey. If it's bothering you so much why don't you just ask him for more information? He might even have some pictures."

"Yeah," she smiled through her tears, "Yeah. I think I will."

88888888888888

It was early in the morning when a stealth helicopter flew over the Nahanni Valley. Hot springs and geysers spewed hot steam into the cool Canadian air. The resultant mists were so thick that the chopper was entirely concealed to the naked eye. Electronic navigation was the only means to find their way here. It was the perfect location to hide a base. In the passenger seat, Richard Woolsey stifled a yawn and made a futile attempt to stretch his back in the constricting seat. It had been a long trip, but the 500 mile flight from Fort Simpson was the final leg. He looked out the window at the almost non-existent view, save for the occasional tree top poking into sight. The wind pushed and whirled the mist so that it sometimes made patterns. He could understand why the valley inspired ghost stories. In the distant past, travellers were known to disappear here. Whether they were simply lost in the mists or suffered a predatory ambush the area was avoided by the local tribes.

"We're coming up on the base any minute," the pilot informed helpfully.

Woolsey meant to thank him, but stifled another yawn instead. He wished he hadn't taken that Dramamine. He'd have to try and get a coffee before presenting his report to General O'Neill. It had been almost a year since Ba'al had carried out his plan to abduct Dr McKay while attempting and failing to fool the United States government into reopening a cold war experimentation program. It was the very same program which Dr McKay had been a victim of in his youth; a fact that he managed to keep a secret for his entire career following his time with the CIA. That it had taken a year to bring the investigation to this point was a testament to the breadth and the depth of the investigation.

Explaining to the Canadians how one of their young citizens had ended up in long-term custody of the United States Government and, in their view, reared to serve her scientific and technological interests without so much as a 'would you mind if we borrowed him?' That he had eventually been recaptured on American soil, in California, did nothing to soothe Canada. The discussion hovered around the question of who was entitled to benefit from the fruits of that labour for a little while before returning to the central issue of human rights and ended in the Canadian's threatening to pull their support out every secret technological and defence program they were involved in. It being secret, that amounted to much more than most people knew. The diplomat who had handled those negotiations made two critical errors; the first was treating the argument as an issue of entitlement. The second was using the term 'recapture'. That unfortunate idiot was soon 'reassigned'. To prevent a complete breakdown in relations, the investigation became a joint operation with their base of operations in Canada and experts from both countries taking part. It was fortunate that the Canadians had already been aware of the Stargate program and the Goa'uld. That would have made bringing them up to date a bit more problematic, which had proven quite challenging as it was.

Although the spirit was intended to be one of full disclosure there would always be a behind the scenes red tape and arguments about whether something particularly sensitive should be kept private. That was another reason it had taken a year to get this far.

This week was the deadline for the entire investigation team. Each of them had been assigned a separate avenue of investigation, with strict instructions to discuss results directly with General O'Neil and his Canadian counterpart. Much of the information was considered so sensitive, so potentially explosive, that the investigators weren't even supposed to discuss their findings with each other. This was especially true in the case of the individual assigned to investigate the circumstances surrounding the Presidential Advisor who had been infested with a Goa'uld. Another was assigned to gather evidence surrounding the concentration-like camps that had held the ashes of cloned children. And so on. Woolsey was more informed than he should have been regarding the threads that connected all these investigations; which was probably why he had been assigned to compile the full history of Dr Rodney McKay from the age of twelve. What he'd learned was that from the point he'd constructed an atomic bomb, minus only weapons grade plutonium, for a school science fair his life had ceased to be his own.

All of this and more spun through Richard Woolsey's head as he mentally prepared for the briefing. The gentle bump of the chopper landing jerked him from his thoughts. In the low visibility he hadn't even the reduction in altitude. But now he could see the lights dimly lighting the surface level of the base, and the silhouettes of the guards. The pilot helped Richard unload himself with the heavy briefcase cuffed to his wrist then went to greet another pilot who had also just landed. The passenger of the other chopper waved briefly then strode towards the base. Richard hurried to catch up. There was only one elevator to the lower level, and it was a long way down. He'd rather not have to wait for it.

As it turned out, the other man held the elevator door for him. Now that they were out of the mist Richard recognized him as Dr. Julian Belford, the Canadian head of the forensics team. He too had a thick briefcase cuffed to his left wrist.

"Julian," Richard greeted and thanked all in one.

Julian smiled and nodded curtly, "Richard." The movement caused a few droplets of water that had gathered in his hair to spatter onto his silver rimmed glasses, joining the smaller droplets that had gathered from the mist. He sighed. He hated having anything on his glasses, but wasn't sure he had the coordination to clean them with a heavy briefcase strapped to his wrist.

The door closed and the elevator began its long decent.

Richard squinted at the droplets on his black rimmed glasses and, with his free hand he took a kerchief out of his pocket and took his glasses off. He then put the kerchief in his weighted hand and held his glasses over to that side while he polished them blind. He held his glasses to the light to check them, and repeated the motion a few times before he was happy.

Julian copied him and reasoned that the NID/IOA veteran must have had plenty of opportunities to figure it out. As an after-thought he mopped any remaining water out of the front if his floppy blond fringe.

They replaced their glasses.

A few seconds passed in silence before it began to feel awkward.

"Some weather," Julian observed when he could take it no longer.

"Thick fog," Richard agreed. A few more seconds passed as that avenue of conversation was apparently exhausted. It was Richard's turn to think of something to talk about, "Long flight."

"Yeah, me too," Julian concurred, then wondered what he could say next given he couldn't talk about where he'd been.

"Didn't sleep a wink," Richard confessed. He never could when travelling so he usually just brought along something to work on.

"Yeah, I usually work while I travel," Julian admitted, then realized he'd just steered the conversation back towards the taboo topic. He fumbled over what to say next.

They stood in awkward silence before Richard steered them back to safer territory, "Really thick fog."

"Yeah."

They checked their watches just as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Thank god.

"Right this way, sirs," a Canadian soldier greeted them. By his stripes he was a major.

They were led through a winding passageway of empty corridors until they reached their destination. Two long rows of armed soldiers lined either side of the hall as far as they could see. They stopped at a door at the head of the corridor.

"What's down there?" Julian couldn't help but ask. They were both staring at the amount of fire power.

"The elevator to the Goa'uld interrogation and extraction facility," the soldier answered far too matter-of-factly for magnitude of that statement.

Two sets of eyes behind two sets of spectacles widened at that, and the two men shrank back from the corridor.

"The generals will see you now," the soldier informed Woolsey before he could run away, and opened the door to admit him.

"And we've prepared a waiting area for you this way," the soldier informed Julian and motioned further down the corridor.

"Right," Julian coughed to cover the quiver in his voice and stolidly followed the soldier further down the hall.

He didn't have far to go before he was left in a white walled room unlike any military waiting room he'd seen before, not that he'd actually seen many. One comfortable looking arm chair sat in front of a flat screen television mounted on a side wall. A small, short table sat beside the chair and, as Julian sat down, he realized it was just the right height to rest the briefcase.

A long coffee table was arranged with a pot of coffee, a plate of donuts, a remote control, and what appeared to be an old style video game console with controller and games all within arms reach. From what he'd heard of General O'Neil, the video game would have been his idea.

The coffee and donuts smelled good, but he couldn't find his appetite.

Now that he was alone, without distractions, an uncomfortable feeling that had been lurking between his shoulder blades became more difficult to ignore. Although he was no longer carrying it, the briefcase attached to his wrist felt heavy with the weight of the dead. He would be glad when he was rid of it.

For a year he had sifted through the ashes of cloned children, identifying viable genetic material, looking for markers, identities, and evidence of any genetic tampering beyond the cloning process. He frequently wondered if the clones had the memories of the children they were copies of. He wondered if they knew they were clones. He hoped they hadn't suffered.

These were thoughts that he normally wouldn't allow himself when he was working on a case. Like most forensic scientists he wasn't a squeamish man. He'd spent his medical career working with the remains of the dead. They were his science. But this was different.

For lack of a better term, he was haunted.

He never used to believe in any kind of afterlife. The existence of beings like the Ancients and the Ori now left that in question. He never used to believe in ghosts either, but working on this particular site had been unsettling enough to cause him to reconsider. He'd worked on victims of violence before. He'd worked on the victims of serial killers. But this was different. Spirit world or no, just the knowledge of what had transpired there and the number of the dead left a taint. It was not unlike what he'd felt as a younger man touring Europe, when he'd visited the concentration camp museums. He wasn't a superstition man. But every now and then in history a crime was committed that was so devoid of humanity that anyone who knew of it could not help but remember it, and be changed by it. It shook the world like an earthquake, wreaking havoc at the epicentre and sending ripples across the wider landscape. If the quake happened in secret, in the deep dark places of the sea, who could know what was lost or changed forever? What unexpected tidal waves of destruction were yet to come? Either way the world was changed, and would never be the same again. This knowledge hung in the air around him with icy tendrils so tangible that he now knew with conviction that ghosts were real. But they weren't the spirits of the dead. They were the aftershocks of crimes of inhumanity. They took on a life of their own and rippled with unforeseeable and unavoidable consequences. The world was changed, haunted, whether it knew it or not.

Julian grimaced. This line of thinking was doing nothing good for him. He needed a distraction. With that thought, his eyes fell on the first video game in the pile and lit up, "ooh. Pacman!"

8888888888888888888888

Richard hesitated outside the door to the office, his attention momentarily turned to the other mans white knuckled grip on his briefcase as he stolidly followed the solider further down the dreaded corridor.

"Well, in or out?" the good humoured voice of General O'Neill beckoned Woolsey into the office.

The grey walled room was surprisingly large, and yet comfortable. The bulk of the room was taken up by a pool table, a sofa set in front of a wide screen T.V., and a ping pong table. Two desks, turned so that the General's could sit face to face, were pushed to one side of the room. At the back of the room was a small conference table where General Martin, the Canadian representative, was just taking his seat after pouring himself a mug of coffee from the pot on the table and taking a maple leaf shaped cookie from the jar. It all spoke quite loudly of Jack O'Neill's brand of diplomacy. General O'Neill was the master of rapport. He could turn a meeting with the President of the United States into a couple of regular guys, sharing a beer over a barbecue. As rumour had it he had done just that. That was just one of the qualities that made him the perfect man to repair and maintain their friendship with Canada through all this.

"Make yourself comfortable," General O'Neill took a key from his pocket, "and by make yourself comfortable I mean give me your wrist."

Richard lifted the briefcase up with both hands so that the general could unlock his wrist.

"Gah," O'Neil exclaimed as he took the briefcase and carried it over to the conference table, "what have you got in this thing?"

"The report," Richard thought the question odd, given that was the entire reason he was here.

"It's all the report?" Jack tested the weight of the thing again. It felt like a lot of hours of reading, "Is there an abridged version?"

"Would you like a summary?" Woolsey asked irritably and opened his briefcase to present two identical copies of the massive volume that was his report. Whether he was dealing with military brass or cabinet ministers, they never seemed to appreciate the importance of being thorough.

General O'Neil opened his file and flipped to page twenty-eight of the appendix, "Yes... a brief one." He looked to the Canadian General to confirm his agreement, "We'll ask questions as they come up."

"Of course," Richard sighed and began, "as you know it began with a science fair project at the age of twelve. He built a working model of an atomic bomb which lacked only fissionable material. His search for parts, including the fissionable materials, attracted the attention of the CIA. They arrested him, thinking him part of a terrorist organization. Once they realized that was not the case they employed his assistance in tracking down the terrorist organization. They continued to employ him for odd jobs. It was during this time that he was encouraged by David Anders to take the MENSA examination. Mr Anders was, of course, even then a member of what we now call the Trust and in fact thought Dr McKay might prove a strong candidate for the Phoenix Weapon Project. As it turned out, he was. His parents, believing that he was being taken into the care of the Canadian Government because he was dangerous, signed him over and never looked back. We can only speculate as to what they had him doing. Those educated speculations, based on Dr McKay's recollections and historical evidence, are in sections one through seven of the report. He remained with the project for two years before escaping, at the age of fifteen. He began a year-long crime spree, the worst of which was managing to thieve over nine-hundred trillion dollars from the World Stock Market without anyone even noticing for a month. The details of how he managed that are in section seven." He referred to the report and watched with some satisfaction as they both hastily flipped to it.

"The FBI and CIA launched a joint investigation into the crime and traced the funds to an account in Orlando, Florida. Disney World. They then waited and watched for the next time the account was accessed and traced it directly to a hidden base inside a giant model volcano."

Jack looked up from the report to Woolsey, "volcano?"

"A model volcano," Richard confirmed, "It was one of the decorations for the new water park."

Jack looked back down at the report, "You can't make this stuff up."

General Martin spared his colleague only a glance before ordering, "Continue."

"To avoid a public situation that particular attraction was closed for maintenance and two full tactical units with S.W.A.T gear were sent to apprehend the suspects quickly and quietly." It went without saying that keeping such a massive breach of the world market secret was vital to the stability of the economy, "Imagine their surprise when all they found was a single sixteen year old boy. Fortunately, one of the CIA agents present recognized him and was able to bring him in unharmed. There was some argument about what should be done with him. It was decided that keeping him occupied was the best way to keep him out of trouble. Reasons cited included, but are not limited to; didn't want to go into care anyway, nobody would be able to handle him, and security. After the Stock Market incident he was deemed too dangerous to be allowed to roam free unsupervised anyway. This was all much to the disagreement of the man who became his handler, an agent Henry Fox. Dr McKay made several attempts to run away, until he was given his own apartment, in a securely monitored neighbourhood... and a cat. In addition he used his spare time to work through a number of degrees, and eventually doctorates, through the CIA's long distance learning arrangements with top universities around the world."

General Martin's face darkened with each word, "So he was your prisoner, without trial and without parole."

"Actually," Richard clarified, "His continued work with the CIA was considered his parole, along with community service."

"This is outrageous!" The Canadian General slammed his fist onto the document, eliciting a jump from Mr Woolsey.

"Yes," General O'Neill stated simply with his usual air of utter calm and motioned for Richard to continue. Attempting to make excuses for the past now would only serve to derail the meeting.

Richard picked up where he left off, "Dr. McKay continued with the CIA until he was eighteen. He then snuck away to crash an extremely sensitive and dangerous mission, detailed in the report. His handler felt it would alleviate his need to try that again if he were permitted to sample a normal life. He then attended MIT with his sister for almost two years, until his identity was breeched by an enemy agency. In such an event, Mr Fox had arranged for McKay to stay with a friend of his at Area 51 until such time that other arrangement could be made."

"But that is not what happened," General Martin observed darkly, but with a great deal more calm.

"No," Richard confirmed, "His friend died in mysterious circumstances shortly before Dr McKay arrived on base, and, citing reasons of keeping his enemies from pin-pointing his location, Agent Fox was reassigned and forbidden from approaching contacting Dr McKay. He was later declared mentally unfit when he claimed that his contact at Area 51 had been murdered and that a clandestine agency was pulling strings from within the government.

Jack flipped through the report for that interview, but found none. He could be the first man to have discovered the Trust. If that were the case his insight could be invaluable. "Where is he now?"

"After making several attempts to reach Dr McKay despite orders, and surviving what I strongly suspect to have been an attempt on his life, he moved to Saskatchewan and became a social worker until he retired."

"And you haven't interviewed him because...?" the question was punctuated by a raised eyebrow'd stare.

"He wouldn't speak to me unless I told him where Dr McKay is now. By the time I returned with clearance he had disappeared. We've not been able to find him since." Richard explained, then pointed to the report, "the final section details failed or pending avenue's of investigation."

"I see..." General Martin had already flipped to the end of the report, "and what happened at Area 51?"

"It's a little hazy for the first few years," Richard adjusted his glasses, "and odd. He was kept in solitary confinement until he could be debriefed, which delayed for a week. Within that time his contract was somehow officially transferred from the National Security Agency to the Military. From the age of twenty to twenty-four he was kept underground and his identity hidden from even the other scientists and military staff of the base. Although the cold war ended in 1991 this wasn't officially recognized by the higher security organizations for another three years. At which point security was relaxed to the point that his name was permitted to be used by those with the clearance to work with him and he could be loaned to other organizations for six months of the year, beginning with the Pentagon. Some of the time was even spent in his old apartment. Officially, his contract remained with Area 51, as such he was expected to spend a minimum of six months there each year."

General Martin jabbed a finger at the document with increasing agitation, "He was your prisoner! He could have gone into witness protection here in Canada but the option was never even considered! And do you know why? It is not in this file but I will tell you why, it was because they wanted to keep using him."

O'Neill waited patiently for the other general to stop ranting before calmly admitting, "Mistakes were made."

"Bah," the Canadian General all but spat and threw his hands into the air, "Just get on with it. What happened next?

"His projects are well documented from that point." There wasn't much left to say so he summarized quickly, "He built a name for himself at the Pentagon and a number of other high level organizations before being sent to the SGC, to Russia for the Naquada program, to the SGC again, and eventually to Antarctica where Dr. Weir successfully recruited him into the Atlantis Expedition as her Head of Science. The Goa'uld then infiltrated the Trust and learned of the Phoenix Weapon Project, bringing us, as you know, up to the events of last year."

"Joining the Atlantis expedition, by the way, was entirely his choice," Jack felt it was important to make that clear.

"It is nice to know something was," General Martin muttered angrily.

"We didn't know about the Trust for a really long time," if someone had told Jack O'Neill twenty years ago, or ever, that he would one day be anything resembling a diplomat he would have told them they were crazy. But crazy as it was, here he was... diplomat-ing, "I think it's fair to say some pretty crap people were pulling some long strings. Also, I think we can all agree that the cold war sucked. A lot of not nice things were done for stupid reasons."

"Yes, of course," General Martin seemed to remember himself and took a deep, calming, breath. He was angry at the situation, not at the people here today, "it is in the past."

"Yes it is," O'Neill confirmed, "but we're still sorry."

The Canadian General nodded his acceptance, "When I present this file to my superiors I will remind them that the Cold War was not a pleasant time for anyone."

"There's one more thing," Woolsey ventured now that General Martin had calmed, "I thought it prudent to leave it out of the report until it can be investigated further. Assuming you agree that it should be investigated further.

Richard looked at them for permission to continue then was uncertain how to begin.

The generals watched him and waited for a moment.

"Well, go on," O'Neil ordered with a hint of impatience.

"An offhand comment by Mr Anders," Richard began, "He claimed that the head scientist for the Phoenix Project was Dr. William Black, and that he continued to receive orders from him regarding Dr. McKay even after the close of the project."

The Generals jaws dropped slightly.

The Canadian General shook his head and turned to Jack, "If there is any truth to this it will be a disaster."

Jack O'Neill's casual demeanour vanished, "You call THAT an offhand comment?"

"Well... you had to be there," Richard tried to explain.

"And you're telling us this as, what, an afterthought?" Jack continued.

It was General Martin's turn to be diplomatic, "Of course, you know he was right to treat this information as sensitive. Dr. Black cannot be investigated without proper authorization, and it cannot be known that it is being considered."

"Yeah, fine," Jack griped and turned to Woolsey with his good humour somewhat restored, "Do you have any other bombs you'd like to drop?"

Richard shook his head.

"Then go, and send the other guy in," Jack made a shooing motion.

Minutes later Dr. Julian Belford appeared in the doorway. In his glasses and suit he looked like a taller, blonder version of Richard Woolsey. Attached to his wrist was an equally thick and heavy looking briefcase.

"Perhaps we should consider a word limit for future reports." General Martin sighed and poured himself another cup of coffee.

General O'Neill turned to the usually humourless man and smirked, "I like that idea."

But they were both acutely aware that Earth could not afford for them to leave any stone unturned so long as the Goa'uld were out there.

Dr. William Black was another stone that unfortunately couldn't be left unturned. He would need to be investigated quickly and quietly.

888888888888888888888888888

-Three Days Later-

A single black car pulled into the long driveway of a four and half story Victorian mansion. Sam looked out the window at the front garden, perhaps more accurately the front park, glittering with fresh fallen snow.

She was glad to be out of the lab for a day. SG1's off-world missions were on hold while Daniel searched records for Merlin's secret lab. The search was slow going and the rest of SG1 had been getting itchy for some action. Mitchell and Valaa in particular weren't handling it particularly well. So when Jack had called yesterday and asked to borrow the three of them while Daniel busied himself with his reading they'd eagerly agreed. Teal'c, the patient member of the team, was left keeping Daniel company. Valaa and Mitchell were off Goa'uld hunting on some Black ops. Sam was leading a team to quietly investigate a dangerous accusation made against Dr. William Black. Jack had wanted a scientist he trusted to recognize any 'sciencey type foul play'.

They parked alongside a similar vehicle, belonging to a representative of the Department of National Security who'd worked directly with him before, and had been sent ahead to prepare the elderly man for her arrival.

She stepped out of the car and straightened the jacket of her dress uniform. It wasn't everyday that she met an icon of the scientific community. The man wasn't well known in the civilian world. But within the circles of secret science the man was legend. Not only was he the most decorated scientist in military history.

This method had allowed him to take part in some many projects in so many branches of government over the years, and even internationally, that he was now a one man Pandora box of secrets. If an operative of the Trust wanted to make trouble, casting doubt on the name of Dr Black could potentially be an effective way of accomplishing just that. The sooner Sam could confirm that the accusation was ridiculous, the better.

Stories of his involvement and contributions tended to any project of merit whether he had anything to do with them or not, to the point that even attracting enough of his interest to read the report was considered a mark of excellence. The mythos surrounding his name was also in no small part due to his eccentric approach to his own privacy. Although his records contained his name and projects he'd worked, there was never a picture. And he always assisted or directed remotely, through correspondence, or through a representative.

Few people even knew what he looked like. Sam was about to become one of those few.

As she climbed the stairs and pressed the doorbell she wished she was meeting him under better terms.

The door opened almost immediately and she was greeted by a slightly shorter, stout old man with a bushy white beard, rosy cheeks, and a contagious smile that made his blue eyes sparkle. The scent of hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies wafted out with him.

"Dr. Black," Sam greeted, already feeling surprisingly at ease with the old scientist who seemed to share an extraordinary number of traits with Santa Claus.

"Dr. Carter," the old scientist greeted with a voice as welcoming as his face, "Or do you prefer your rank? What an absolute pleasure. I've been following your work for a few years now. Most impressive. Come in. Come in. Your bodyguards too, of course."

"Thank you, doctor. Sam is fine," she turned a slightly apologetic look at her 'body guards' who were actually two other scientists who were, like her, also members of the military.

"Then you must call me William," he ushered them in and led them to a comfortable reception room, with a roaring fireplace, where the representative from defence was already sitting with two of his security staff and half a cookie in his hand. "Now, Gary here has told me that you'll probably want to get straight to business but I'm far too stubborn not to at least try to offer you some refreshments first. It's been far too long since I've had the opportunity to serve hot chocolate and cookies to some young people such as yourselves. I do hope you like gingerbread. It was my daughters favourite, long ago. You remind me very much of her."

The slightly saddened look in his eyes at the mention of his daughter prompted Sam to take a cookie, "It's one of my favourites. Thank you."

"Not at all, and you help yourselves too, boys," Dr Black ushered Leutenants Yemen and Barrowman over to the table and poured them some hot chocolate.

The middle aged group exchanged looks of quiet amusement at being viewed as so young by the eccentric old man. At least it looked like cooperation wasn't going to be an issue. It would have been unfortunate to have to use force on the elderly gentleman. The good natured old scientist seemed very understanding. Of course, with a lifetime of experience working on projects of a secret nature he must be well acquainted with security protocols.

Sam coughed to clear the giggle that was threatening at the edge of her voice box and sternly reminded herself that this was not a social call, "I'm sorry, but we really should have a look around. It looks like there's a lot of ground to cover and we don't want to minimize disruption to you."

"Of course," the old scientist chuckled and smiles at the man from Defence, "you were right Gary. They're very professional."

"Come along over here then dear," Dr. Black led her over to a monitor set into a cherry wood wall panelling and a panel slid out underneath it. "Now place your hands here, and look straight into the monitor."

She placed her hands on the panel and a beam scanned her face.

"There you go, my dear," he smiled, "You now have full security clearance for this mansion. Every locked door, vault and secret passageway will be open to you."

"Secret passageway?" Sam repeated questioningly.

The old scientists eyes twinkled all the more as he smiled at her, "What fun is a gigantic mansion without at least one secret passageway? If you'd like my advice you should go there first, everything else really is quite boring in comparison."

"Ok," Sam motioned for Dr. Black to lead the way, but he poured himself a hot chocolate and settled into a comfortable looking armchair.

"Where would be the fun if I simply told you?" He smiled mischievously up at her, "I'll give you a hint. It's in a room, not a corridor."

"The Library?" Sam couldn't help but guess the first thing come to mind, while her colleagues took another cookie and a quick sip of hot cocoa each. Dr. Black certainly seemed to have a way of bringing the kid out of people.

"Correct!" he congratulated, "You will need another hint then! Look for the story in which the true villains are ignorance and fear, and in which failing to see a great discovery through leads to dire consequences. You don't mind if an old man rests and has another cup of tea while you young people have your fun? Gary will keep me company. Won't you young man."

Gary, with his silver speckled hair, smiled and tipped his mug of cocoa to Sam as confirmation, "Happy to."

"Of course not sir," Sam agreed. The library wasn't difficult to find.

The library was on the corner of the mansion, and stretched up the full five stories. Broad walkways with stepladders lined the wall on each level connecting to a central platform. Old maps, antique models of the solar system, specimens detailing the evolution of the microscope and the telescope, decorated the central platforms from within glass cases. Sam couldn't help but think that Daniel would have loved it. She turned her attention back to the matter at hand. Two of the walls faced outside. One of the walls faced the long hallway. That left one wall that could hold a secret passageway, and it made sense that it would be on the bottom floor, probably leading into a cellar. She turned to that wall, and couldn't help the smile of mischief that spread across her lips. It was shared by the three guards that accompanied her. There was no denying that hunting for a secret passage in a giant mansion library was, at some point, a childhood fantasy for most Earthers. It might even be universal.

She scanned the spines of the books at head height. This appeared to be a section dedicated to early science fiction works. Fādil ibn Nātiq,Ramayana, The City of Brass, La Découverte Australe par un Homme Volant_, _Utopia, The Time Machine, her eyes locked on The Modern Prometheus. It was a little known title of Mary Shelley's popular Frankenstein novel, and it fit Dr. Black's clue. Dr. Frankenstein discovered the secret to creating life, but was then so frightened by what he discovered that he fled from it, irresponsibly leaving the creature confused and alone to nurture vengeance. Sam reached up and withdrew the book from the shelf. A beam of light shone out from where the book had been and scanned her face, then the section of book cases slid outwards and up out of the way, revealing a wide staircase leading down into a darkened room.

Force of habit moved their hands to their side-arms as the stepped down into the darkness. The moment Sam reached the bottom step the secret passage closed and the lights came on, revealing a large round room with view screens set into metallic silver walls. A clear shelf in front of each screen held a keyboard. Dotted throughout the room were circles of light which, on approach, produced a holographic image. Sergeant Yemins was the first to approach one, and jumped back when the image of a sullen teenage boy wearing all black materialized in front of him. Light brown hair fell in shaggy loose curls around stormy blue eyes frozen in a look of defiance. A columns of headings appeared beside the image. Code names, projects, inventions... Yemins reached up and touched inventions and a myriad of holographic devices sent the teenager into the background.

Sergeant Barrowman stepped up to a second circle and was met by an image of Dr. McKay in his Atlantis Uniform, the list alongside him read; mission reports, articles, key discoveries, correspondence... He moved on to the next nearest and was unsurprised to see a young adult version of the same man alongside the categories Area 51, Pentagon, and a myriad of other government branches and organizations he'd worked with prior to the Stargate Program.

A nervous dread settled in the pit of Sam's stomach as she stepped up to a third circle. She looked down at the prepubescent boy wearing white hospital scrubs. The lettering above his head read; Aptitudes, Biochemistry, Experiments, Missions. Her heart pounded as she reached forward and pointed to 'missions' then chose a random one out of about forty. The view screens on the wall sprang to life and a video began to play. The boy was struggling as he was wheeled into a room with a row of sensory depravation chambers. The dread escalated to nausea as the boy was injected with something. The hologram produced a list of drugs, including mescaline and LSD-25. Both were known to increase suggestibility. The struggling became weaker, and sporadic, and the boy was taken by the chin and made to look at a man sitting at a nearby table in dark suit. "Rodney. Listen. I want you to seek out that mans mind for instructions. The sooner you do it, the sooner you can come back out."

"Damn it," Yemins cursed.

Sam's weapon was drawn when she ran back to the reception room, where Dr. Black still sat amicably sharing stories with the two officers she had left with him.

The friendly little man smiled a warm, embracing, smile, "I expect you'll want to arrest me now, yes?"

Her eyes burned with bitter disappointment, "How could you?"

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-Elsewhere on the Planet-

A soul shattering scream reverberated through the room. The source of the scream fell to his knees, and prior blue eyes faded to the blue of a stormy sea for only an instant before disappearing in flames. His body fell to ashes. Ba'al frowned at the ashes, and pondered. The loss of Dr. McKay's clones had been a large set back, but the hosts he'd engineered using genetic samples should not have been so different as to perpetually fail like this. They had his physical attributes, the ATA therapy, and his intelligence. Even the allergy to citrus and hypoglycemia had been incorporated in case it was of chemical relevance. What more of relevance could there be? He turned to his other two selves. They too seemed to be lost in thought.

Even now, long after the scream subsided, the memory continued to echo through the room like an ailing spirit of the damned. The superstitious thought almost brought a smirk to Ba'al's face. Perhaps he'd been on this planet too long.

In his time on this planet Ba'al liked to think he'd become something of an expert on Earth culture. He understood now that his brethren had gone about conquering this planet entirely the wrong way. In their ignorance they had tried to subjugate these humans with force and threats of death.

No, these humans would have to be motivated by much more sophisticated means. The key lied in an Earth saying he'd grown quite fond of, 'Two things in life are certain, death and taxes.'

Earthlings were used to being ruled from behind the scenes by skilled business men and women who took great pleasure in trying to prove that saying wrong. Once Ba'al gained mastery over both the people of Earth would willingly worship him for the chance at even a small taste of his power. And he would benevolently grant them just enough to secure their undying loyalty.

Taxes were in fact a simple matter to defeat. With the assistance of a number of offshore accounts and the added assistance of some well planned charitable donations the matter of taxes was easily rendered moot. Death, however, was a problem with a far more elusive solution. These humans both feared death, and accepted it as an inevitable eventuality. Thus, they could not be sufficiently threatened by it. The power to simply take life would never grand godhood in their eyes.

Earth had moved far beyond bowing to such a base threat as death for they, like so many species before them, had perceived that death need not be the end. It was a common thread in their many religions. It was sought after in legends. It was held in awe and sometimes fear in stories told around camp fires. They held onto even the faintest possibility of eternity and many of them would not risk it for a few more moments of life. They would not risk it for anything less than the promise of immortality.

Immortality was not easy to provide. But these humans wanted it. The proof was in the size and success of industries dedicated to just that. There were thousands of treatments advertizing for prolonging youthful appearance, tonics to stave off old age, even surgeries. There were claims of miracle diets, gyms, and massive amounts of well funded research dedicated to studying the genetics of aging to find the scientific fountain of youth. The humans of Earth wanted immortality as surely as the Ancients had wanted it, as surely as the Asgard had wanted, as surely as the Nox, and as surely as the Goa'uld. After all, this was the end goal of every advanced civilization, though few reached it. All but the Ancients had only managed to extend their existences.

For this the Ancients were held in reverence by the humans, as though they must have been wise to have achieved so. The humans naively assumed them to be good. Ba'al knew better. Quaint little ideas like morality and good tended to seem less important when survival was at stake. It was as it should be and denying it was more foolish than noble. Most humans, even among those of this more advanced planet, were foolish. They deluded themselves into believing they were above making such sacrifices even as they accepted the benefits of the medical advancements those sacrifices granted them. Their greatest leaps in human longevity were made when ideas of right and wrong were suspended. Even a medicine so common and simple as penicillin was given to them by a scientist who infected and experimented upon children. Even the infamous scientists of Nazi Germany were granted protection, and lived the lives of kings, in exchange for sharing their ill-gotten knowledge.

Most of these humans lived in a pleasant world in denial of such uncomfortable facts. But the few who deserved to rule, the business people who pulled the strings of finance from the top, they knew how to see a goal and reach for it no matter the cost.

There were always costs.

The Asgard had sacrificed their ability to procreate. The Ancients had abandoned those of themselves who were unable to ascend. The Nox, locked in their youth, now lived a life of segregation from the entire of the universe, no doubt hiding from the sins of their past. Who really knew what else these now worshipped races had sacrificed along the way? Does it matter when they hold such power that no mortal would dare judge them now?

Ba'al returned his thoughts to his own goals. The Goa'uld had fooled themselves into thinking they were gods for a time. They had been powerful. They had even been worshipped. To a human they seemed to live forever. But it had been an illusion which his raced had allowed to distract themselves from the true end goal.

The sarcophagus could extend a Goa'uld life for centuries upon centuries, but not forever. There were some injuries that were beyond the help of a sarcophagus. Ba'al was painfully aware of this as he frowned down at his own charred and scattered remnants.

His initial intent when he learned of the Phoenix Program through some of the older members of the Trust was to simply create a host capable of besting, or at least matching, a Prior of the Ori. But even with all the research he attained from Dr. Beckett and the information he'd been able to gather directly from a supposedly successful subject he had been unable to successfully repeat the experiment. As was evidenced by his own charred remains. But such was the cost of progress. Even so, he likely would have given up by now but as luck would have it an informant with an eye for business had come forward with some very interesting information. A retired spy approaching the end of his life had offered to willingly serve Ba'al's cause and supplied him with further intelligence regarding the origins of the project which had proved very useful indeed. In return, he received regular use of a sarcophagus to extend his fading existence.

His assistance had proven most fruitful thus far. As it turned out, the formula used for the Phoenix Program had been found on an ancient tablet believed to be of Mayan origin. Anything that old and filled with such promise of power had to be a remnant of the Ancients. The possibilities were too great to pass up and renewed Ba'al's hope that this would prove to be another step on the path to Ascension. Photographs of the artifact had confirmed his suspicions, and suggested that the artifact was part of a set. Furthermore, Ba'al had been able to refine the formula to more closely resemble what was described on the tablet.

The trouble was it still wasn't working. He'd have killed the elderly human if he thought he was to blame at all. But no, the information was good and the human, with his great many contacts in the underworld of the intelligence community, still had use. Sometimes the greatest leaps in evolution simply demanded greater sacrifice in return. This had been sacrifice number thirteen, not a lucky number as it turned out. He and his two brethren were now the last of this special batch of clones. More were being grown in the levels below. But for now they would have to be cautious.

Ba'al turned his attention away from the charred remains and pressed a call button on his desk, "Send in a janitor please."

"Yes sir," a female voice chimed back.

He released the button and looked around the room for something to take his mind off his own remains and possible future. There wasn't much else to look at, in the windowless level, seven floors below the ground. That was yet another cost of progress. He couldn't afford to be seen above ground in this form. His eyes settled on his reflection in the polished marble floor. Expressive blue eyes, brown hair, and a slightly receding hairline stared back up at him. It begged belief how difficult it was to keep his moods from broadcasting themselves in this form. He looked away from the floor and back towards his two other selves. Sure enough, the flit of irritation across two more pairs of stormy blue eyes broadcasted their shared frustration.

He'd been so sure that they'd solved that pesky spontaneous combustion issue. Few experiences could be more cathartic than actually watching yourself die the same horrible death repeatedly. A glance at his two selves standing alongside him told him he wasn't the only Ba'al in the room who felt this way. Ba'al knew that he might be the one to draw the short straw for the next attempt. They all did. He grimaced over at himself. He was definitely thinking the same thing.

"This is ridiculous," Ba'al burst out, "How many more of me have to die like this?"

"We were warned it might partially be a matter of luck. The more we try the more likely one of us will succeed. Then he can ascend the rest of us," Ba'al replied with an air of wishful thinking. He didn't believe it was just luck anymore than the others did. There was clearly more to this experiment labeled Phoenix than met the eye.

Ba'al sighed at himself, "It's only worth the risk if there is an achievable goal. This is becoming masochistic."

It was then that his personal assistant, another human who understood business, hurried over to him, "Mr Kuznetsov is here to see you, sir."

"Wonderful!" Ba'al brightened at the possibility of more useful information. His pet spy hadn't failed him yet. "Send him right in."

"Yes sir," she turned on her narrow designer heels and hurried to obey.

In mere moments the ninety two year old Russian spy strode into the room, walking with an ease and strength uncommon for his age. His formerly withered back now held his slender form perfectly straight as he saluted the three Goa'uld. His time in the sarcophagus had served him well.

With a lifetime of experience, Kuznetsov kept his expression entirely neutral as he looked in the face of the man he hated so much he could taste it; The man who, up until mere months ago, had been nothing more than a formless apparition in his nightmares. "I have arranged to acquire the artefact. A former colleague owed me a favour. But I must meet him at an as yet undisclosed location. I do know that it will not be on this planet. I will require access to a ship."

"Of course, we have many," Ba'al took a wrist device out of a drawer and handed it over. "You have done well. Should you bring back this artefact rest assured that your services will indeed be rewarded greatly."

"They already have been," Kuznetsov turned and strode swiftly away as a fist sized ball rolled behind him and towards the last three McKay-Ba'al clones. Ba'al barely had enough time to realize that it was one of his own bombs before it erupted and fire consumed them. Kuznetsov casually clenched his hand around the wrist device and was whisked away in a beam of light before the debris reached him. Eight levels below, twelve timers strapped to support beams finished counting down to zero.

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	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two – Two Months

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It was still dark when the alarm blared.

Beep, beep, beep, beep... BEEP BEEP BEEP!

An arm reached out from beneath a warm bundle of blankets and slapped the snooze button on the offending alarm. Slowly a head emerged from the warmth and peaked at the alarm. The blurry red numbers read Five AM, and beside the clock was a picture frame with a reminder of why it had gone off at such an ungodly hour. The bundle groaned and Carson Beckett emerged to swing his legs over the side of the bed. With another groan he reached for his jogging clothes.

"Bloody inhuman hour," Carson griped and shivered as he quickly changed out of his flannel pygamas. A city in the middle of a vast ocean could get very cold at night. He rubbed his arms and sighed at the bedside picture of him and Rodney in their BDU's. They had just passed their off-world field training together. It had felt like quite an accomplishment at the time, for two lab geeks. He was not at all sorry that since then Rodney had well surpassed him in field experience. He'd patched up enough of Rodney's war wounds to show for it, the most recent being a bullet in the side courtesy of Colonel John Sheppard. A wraith device had been causing most of the team to hallucinate at the time and the Colonel had mistaken Rodney for an enemy combatant. Fortunately the bullet had missed any vital organs and Carson had been there to minimize the damage. At any rate, Rodney was all patched up and fully cleared for duty, if still a bit out of shape from all the bed rest.

Carson rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and jogged out of his quarters. Unsurprisingly, Rodney wasn't at their agreed meeting spot again, so Carson jogged down to the labs. He'd almost certainly be either there working or asleep with his head on the desk and a simulation running.

He'd been a bit surprised when Rodney had suggested they run together. Evidently he was having trouble finding the motivation to run to a regular schedule by himself, so Sheppard had ordered him to find a running group or at least a partner. He didn't want to run with the marines because he didn't feel he had the stamina or the time. He'd tried running with Ronon and Teyla but could tell he just didn't have the speed. So he'd approached Carson in his awkward way. Carson had to admit that he should have been keeping up some kind of daily workout routine anyway and had been lax, so he'd agreed. Also, in the beginning it had been a good way to keep an eye on Rodney's recovery.

They'd been running together for almost a month now.

Carson slowed as he reached Rodney's lab. The door swished open and sure enough there was Rodney sitting in his usual spot, facing the door but oblivious to anything but whatever he was working on.

Rodney blinked tiredly and rubbed his eyes. His shoulders were hunched as though they held the weight of the world.

Everyone had noticed that he'd been growing increasingly despondent and short tempered ever since his efforts, along with his sisters, to create a new power supply for Atlantis had ended in nearly destroying two universes and had entirely depleted their only ZPM. Only three weeks later he'd suffered the bullet wound, severely hampering his efforts to search for a replacement off-world. Being confined to the city for the past two months while his bullet wound healed and he got back in shape had seemed to make his mood even worse, to say the least. It didn't seem to make a difference how many times they all told Rodney that they didn't blame him for depleting the ZPM.

Rodney looked back at the laptop with his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Carson had no doubt he was working on something to do with their power supply issues.

Well, Carson would just have to be chipper enough for the both of them then. He put on his happy morning person face and strolled into the lab, "There you are. As if there was any doubt."

Rodney jumped in surprise at the sudden intrusion then looked down at his watch, "Is it that time already?"

"Aye, again," Carson looked pointedly at Rodney's uniform. "And I see you're not dressed yet, as if that's a surprise."

"Yes, well," Rodney's eyes darted side to side as he searched for a good excuse, and he slumped a little as he failed, "I lost track of time."

"Aye," Carson agreed to the obvious, "About that. I think you're pulling too many all nighters."

Just as Carson was settling down to wait for Rodney to finish the laptop snapped shut, was unplugged, and Rodney was walking out of the lab leaving Carson to catch up.

"The city power issues aren't going to solve themselves are they?" his irritable friend griped over his shoulder, "Especially since we have no ZedPM."

"Nobody blames you for that," Carson gently reminded for what must have been the dozenth time. There was always the chance that repetition would drum in the point.

"I didn't say anyone did," Rodney snipped back with more than a hint of haughty irritation, "That doesn't mean that it doesn't need to be dealt with."

Carson decided to change the subject and asked the first thing that came to mind, "How's hand to hand going with Ronon?"

"Painfully," Rodney grimaced. "But he says if I can manage to tuck and roll without falling on my ass when he throws me, he might graduate me to getting clobbered by sticks!"

Carson winced sympathetically, "I'm a bit confused as to whether he thinks that's meant to be an incentive."

"Me too," Rodney shared his wince, "I have another session with him in less than an hour. And I need to get started on compressing files for the next data burst to Earth before our mission later this afternoon. Zelenka's still on P3R785, so I'm picking up his slack."

"Which one is P3..uh...?"

"P3R785," repeated the only person to have memorized the addresses and designations of every planet they'd visited, "the one with the Ancient bio lab we visited last year. It unleashed a sleeping sickness."

Every subsequent team that had tried to access that lab had found the controls entirely unresponsive even though there was ample energy available. Radek had been working on the problem off and on for months and making no progress. After what had happened last time Carson had pointedly forbidden Rodney from ever returning, on medical grounds. The night life comprised of some rather vicious energy beasts and, as a result of being a victim of some experimentation in his youth combined with the ATA therapy, Rodney seemed to have a chronically bad reaction to energy beings. Carson particularly didn't want to push their luck since Ba'al had boosted the presence of ATA enzymes in his system by a full five percent during his abduction a little over a year ago. Rodney hadn't argued the point, for once. No doubt he didn't relish the idea of returning there either.

Rodney swept into his quarters and grabbed his gym bag, "I won't be a minute." He modestly disappeared into the washroom.

"I'll just invite myself in then," Carson said, more to himself, as he stepped into the sparsely decorated quarters. The bed sheets were twisted in a knot, indicating that Rodney had at least tried to get some sleep that night. Hopefully returning to a normal mission schedule would improve Rodney's sleeping patterns.

A pile of thick books rested on the floor beside the night stand, most likely what Rodney considered light reading. Carson picked one up, "The Kingfisher Football Encyclopaedia?" He crouched to look at the rest of the stack and found more football books. From his new position he could see behind the stack of books to the bottom shelf of the nightstand. It was filled with handwritten sheet music intermixed with scribbled physics equations. Carson hoped that meant his friend was still playing, even if he still steadfastly refused to let anyone listen. Everyone had been quite surprised, and Rodney mortified, the first and only time he'd been caught playing piano in the dead of night.

"Ready to go," Rodney strode out in his track suit.

Carson stood quickly and followed Rodney out, "I thought you didn't like sports."

"I don't," Rodney stretched briefly and began a slow jog, "But Sheppard keeps quizzing me. He seems to take a perverse pleasure in my inability to answer."

"And you're that competitive?" Carson couldn't help but grin as he imagined the look on the Colonel's face.

Rodney forced a humourless smile and answered shortly, "apparently." He turned his attention back to the hall ahead of him and quickened the pace slightly as they warmed up.

A dark mood settled in the air around them. The melancholy which Rodney was too stubborn to admit he had was almost tangible to anyone around him.

"So," Carson ventured again, "How are ye today?"

"It's five fifteen in the morning. Today hasn't started yet." Rodney snipped irritably and increased the pace again.

Carson just sighed and kept pace.

They jogged halfway down the next corridor before Rodney seemed to decide he'd been too harsh, "Never been better."

"Really?" Carson managed to keep all but a hint of doubt from his tone.

Rodney glanced sideways at him, "Yes, well my work is finally getting at least some of the recognition it deserves."

"Aye, ye said." It was one thing that Rodney hadn't minded talking about, at length, whether asked or not, for the past few months. Dr William Black, a retired top level scientist of great repute within the circles of secret society, had taken an interest in Rodney's work and had been corresponding with him. Apparently, Dr Black had retained his high level clearance and had been using it to read all of Rodney's internally published papers. He'd been so impressed, so Rodney told it, that he'd decided to send Rodney some theories that he'd been struggling with himself. Radek, in particular, had heard no end to the gloating. "Have ye had anything new from him?"

"If he's working according to schedule," Rodney brightened a little, "and he hasn't missed a deadline yet, I should receive something back in the next data burst."

Carson noticed the bit of bounce return to Rodney's step and sighed, already regretting what he was about to ask, "Explain to me again what you two have been working on."

"It's actually pretty interesting stuff. Truly cutting edge," as expected, Rodney didn't hesitate to launch into a detailed explanation of the various theories they'd been bouncing back and forth, seemingly forgetting whatever had been getting him down for at least a time.

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The midmorning sun was high in the sky of P3R785, but a frosty mist still lingered in the mountains. The scent of freshly baking bread wafted out of the many chimneys of the mountain villages. It almost tempted the two scientists working in the nearby ancient outpost to take a break.

Hair messy, glasses crooked, Dr Radek Zelenka pulled his upper body out of the open panel on the floor in the outer chamber of the ancient bio facility. He checked his watch and released a frustrated curse. He had only hours left before he had to be back at Atlantis to cover for Rodney while he went on a mission and he had, once again, made no progress. He was at his wits end. That various teams from the Atlantis expedition had been at this for over a year was a little embarrassing. They were meant to be the best at what they did, and since joining the Atlantis expedition gaining mastery over ancient technologies was what they did. To be bested by this one, and not even know why, had become an issue of pride. In fairness, there had not been a constant presence here from Atlantis base as inevitably there were other demands and the expedition could not afford to expend too many resources here. But whenever there was a lull in galaxy class emergencies demanding immediate attention a team would volunteer to come to P3R785 and work on the puzzle for a day, often working through the night to maximize their time.

Dr. Velnick kicked the wall in frustration and began closing up the door panel. He had been fiddling at the control crystals of the door, as they had many times before. It would not work, but after a year of no team having any success they had been reduced to repeating everything that had been tried before by any team in case a mistake had been made. Radek was almost certain that would not be the case, but it was possible and the possible must be eliminated before proceeding.

Radek gripped the still darkened ancient console and pulled himself to his feet. He put his hand on the controls and thought hard, 'activate'. Nothing happened. Of course, he knew thinking harder had nothing to do with it. It should have simply responded to his gene. He sighed and crouched to close the panel in the floor. He'd been visually tracing power conduits to ensure that the power to the console had not been even partially rerouted, which his scanner already told him it hadn't, and that all the power lines and buffers were undamaged. They weren't... which was unsurprising as his scanner already told him they weren't. The naquada generator they had brought along and hooked up glowed and hummed as it should, but still the console was dark and registered no power. Every possibility had once again been exhausted; every possibility but one. His tired eyes held a glint of mischief as he turned to Dr. Velnick, who had been opposed to this final idea.

"It's a bad idea," Dr. Velnick proclaimed in a manner that reminded him of Dr. McKay. It was on Dr. Velnick's insistence that they had repeated every previous attempt before proceeding to 'Plan Z', as Radek liked to call it.

"Yes, which is why it is the only thing we have not yet tried," Zelenka argued successfully, "Do you have better idea?"

Dr. Velnick scratched his head and huffed, "No." He looked at his watch, "We'd better hurry if we're going to do this."

The Czech engineer turned back to the ancient console a little too eagerly. Generally, if they couldn't get a bit of ancient technology to work it was shelved or sent back to earth for a dedicated team to work on. He almost never had the opportunity to test his personal motto against ancient equipment. It was too valuable to risk it. "When you eliminate the possible all that remains, however improbable, is to take it apart, put it back together again, and hope for the best."

"How's it going docs?" Major Lorne strolled in with a plateful of freshly baked bread and some local cheeses, "Thought you might be hungry."

"Oh yes!" Dr. Velnick practically scampered over to Major Lorne and snatched up a piece of bread and cheese.

"Yes, yes. Much appreciated," Zelenka muttered less enthusiastically. He had already removed the control crystals and was now detaching the control grid.

"He's taking it apart," Dr Velnick explained around a mouthful of bread.

Lorne looked at his watch and knelt beside Radek with the plate in hand, "Are you sure that's a good idea? We're due back in three hours."

"I will bet you a week of desert rations that I can have it disassembled and reassembled with a half hour to spare," Radek challenged. He knew the Major wouldn't be able to resist the bet.

"You're on," Major Lorne agreed, then placed a napkin with some bread and cheese on the scientists chest. Most of the scientists had a tendency to forget their physical needs when they were deep into a project. "But eat something."

"Yes yes, I will of course," Radek muttered noncommittally as he finished removing the control panel and revealed the connections behind it. He reached for his scanner to begin directly interfacing with each connection. The first one produced no result. The second one produced a satisfying whooshing sound and a fizzle of activity.

"Uh... doc..." Lorne sounded worried. He was the one man security team for this mission, leaving nobody outside to fly the jumper down to the gate and radio Atlantis.

Radek peeked out from under the console. The outer door had closed and a shield had enveloped the entire inner chamber. "I must have triggered a security system. I will have it have it turned off again in a moment."

He didn't...

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With a blur of motion Rodney found himself sliding across the floor. Before he could think of slowing himself he thumped against the wall and bounced forward with a grunt, "Ow."

"McKay, you're supposed to block me," Ronon rumbled, "And if I get you, you roll with the throw."

"Right!" Rodney rasped.

Ronon frowned at the sound but Rodney was already rolling his shoulders and adjusting his oversized martial arts tunic, "Was I too fast for you?"

"Just a little," Rodney admitted, and hesitantly retook his position on the mat.

"Okay, I'll go slower, give you a chance to block," Ronon circled, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Rodney squeaked and assumed the defensive position Ronon had showed him.

"You're sure?" the squeak gave Ronon pause, but Rodney nodded stubbornly and assumed a more confident stance, "Alright, remember what I told you. Use my strength against me. Circular movement."

"Right!" Rodney took a deep breath, which was promptly knocked out of him as Ronon effortlessly pinned him against the wall.

Ronon turned his eyes skyward in exasperation, "Just try to get out of the hold."

"I am," Rodney pushed ineffectually at Ronon's arm and tried futilely to back into the wall he was already pinned flat against. "This is impossible! And you know what; why do we put the mat on the floor if you're just going to keep using the wall?"

"I've left you openings, McKay," Ronon let one hand fall to his side and openly relaxed his posture for emphasis.

Rodney just pushed at the arm again. He pushed right. He pushed left. He tried twisting it a bit. Then sighed in exasperation, "What opening"?

"You really don't see it?" Ronon stared at the supposed smartest member of his team and lifted his free arm for emphasis. "Hit me!"

"What? No!" Rodney looked aghast.

"If your opponent pins you the best way to get out is to hurt him, then he lets you go," Ronon spelled out as though talking to a child. This wasn't the first time he'd had to coax his student into striking a blow.

"I don't want to," Rodney stopped struggling and pouted at the giant man.

"l can take it," Ronon pressed Rodney harder to encourage him to fight back.

Rodney grunted and reluctantly punched Ronon in the ribs.

"Harder," Ronon growled.

"Fine! Just remember. You asked for it." Rodney pulled back as though to punch him again but instead surprised Ronon with a sturdy kick in the shins.

Ronon grinned and pulled back, "Good."

"Really?" Rodney rubbed his chest and looked at Ronon in surprise.

"Better..." Ronon amended more honestly, but Rodney's confidence seemed boosted anyway as he retook his position in the centre of the mat. "This time remember to avoid or block."

The warrior lunged as before and pushed Rodney towards the wall. This time the physicist spun his shoulders, imagining his centre as the fulcrum as Ronon had instructed before. He tried to use his shoulders as the lever to Ronon's massive weight but he hesitated and then overcompensated and ended up gripped from behind. He tried elbowing Ronon with his remaining free arm but he couldn't find enough leverage to make it effective as Ronon now held him firmly across the front of his shoulders.

The comparatively smaller man tried every way but the right way to get free then gave up, "Okay. You've got me."

"I showed you how to flip someone from this position," Ronon reminded patiently.

"You mean when you flipped ME?" Rodney obviously didn't relish the memory. He'd had to stand on a stool to hold Ronon around his shoulders, and then had gotten the wind knocked out of him. "Yes, I remember that."

"Good, do it."

The physicist took a deep breath and pulled down on Ronon's arm as he tried to bend forward, but the much larger man barely budged.

"That was close, reposition your feet like this." Ronon tapped Rodney's foot until it was in a better position, "Now try again."

Rodney scrunched his face and grunted with effort has he tried again to pull down on Ronon's arm as hard as he could and flip him over. Ronon responded by tightening his grip as an assailant would, "Use your whole body, McKay, not just your arm and hips, use your legs."

Rodney tried and failed again, but his efforts caused Ronon's grip to slip slightly and it tightened across his collar bone. In an unexpected flash the memory of another arm tightened across Rodney's throat. The sound of Bobby Freeman laughing at his futile efforts to get away rung in his ears as the Sergeants rock hard arm cut off his oxygen.

All at once Ronon felt Rodney's pulse quicken as he shuddered and jerked in a panic.

Ronon immediately let go, "Whoah. Are you okay?"

Rodney spun away and fell back, shaken and embarrassed, "Yes. Fine. Just a little tight."

"Did I hurt you?" Ronon moved to help him up but stopped when Rodney flinched back and picked himself up.

"Just give me a minute," Rodney panted and waved him away.

"You sure?" Ronon stood back and watched the way McKay's hand was shaking as he rubbed his throat higher than where Ronon had been holding him.

"Yes, of course. I could keep going all day. But uh, I'm sure you've got stuff to do before the mission later and I know I do so what say we uh..." Rodney stammered as he backed towards the door.

"Look, McKay, I didn't mean to scare you," Ronon attempted to apologize.

"Scared?" Rodney laughed a nervous laugh then puffed his chest out in bravado, "N-no, no, no, no. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not scared just uh, you know. Busy. Same time, same place, Friday. I'll be here."

With those hasty parting words, Rodney snatched up his duffle bag and shot out of the room.

88888888888888

The strong scent of Athosian tea filled Teyla's quarters and mingled with the gentler scent of incense. Most scents were gentler than that of Athosian Tea though; especially the morning tea. Teyla called the concoction 'bracing'. Ronon thought that was an understatement. McKay had once said the reason it was bracing was because once you drank it, it was unlikely anything worse would happen to you that day. Ronon almost snorted his spaghetti when McKay said it and Teyla threw her bread roll at him. He remembered that occasion well because that was the first moment he began to feel that he could be at home with these people.

McKay hadn't made so many jokes lately. Ronon wasn't sure why but he suspected that the training incident today might be a clue. He was rarely any good at understanding the actions and motives of these humans from another galaxy, with all their alien ways. Teyla had more experience with them, so he often came to her when he needed an interpretation or some advice.

"It was weird," Ronon finished describing the event, and then took a sniff of his Athosian Tea before downing it in one gulp. His eyes stung with the taste.

Teyla sipped her tea and looked at the giant of a man that now sat cross legged across from her, holding a comically small little tea cup. Even now his muscles were tense with a readiness to spring into battle. The thick dread-locks that framed his battle hardened face gave him a wild look. Teyla was not surprised that anyone, let alone Rodney, would flinch back if they saw Ronon charging at them. It was for this reason that she knew Colonel Sheppard had initially agreed to Ronon handling Rodney's training as a joke, and on a day when he had been particularly frustrated with Rodney over some argument.

Teyla had felt it was prudent not to intervene on that occasion. The etiquette of her village was clear on such matters, and wisely so. Never get between two brothers engaged in rivalry. Even though they were not related by blood and had not grown up together there was no doubt in Teyla's mind that the rule applied to these two men. They were perpetually competitive and argued often, and yet often sought one another out while pretending to others not to enjoy each others company. They were definitely brothers.

Neither she nor John had expected the training arrangement to last this long. They'd underestimated Rodney's pride and stubbornness.

Ronon knew the effect he had on most others and had been perfectly willing to go along, but more as a personal challenge than as a practical joke, after having made the claim that he could train anyone. But now, Ronon seemed genuinely concerned or he would not have come to her and he certainly wouldn't be joining her for morning tea. It was an acquired taste that was very rarely acquired by non-Athosians; one reason it was offered to strangers as a test of character.

She considered her words and began with a gentle suggestion, "Perhaps you were simply too rough?"

"I don't think so," Ronon countered shortly, simply, and with a tone of absolute certainty.

"You sometimes do not know your own strength," Teyla reminded. Ronon had broken more than a few training dummies.

"I was careful," the warrior countered unblinkingly. His certainty remained unwavering.

"Very well," Teyla doubted that even he would be overly rough without at least realizing it after the event, "Even so, you can be intimidating to even a seasoned warrior."

Ronon gripped the teacup in frustration, "You're not listening to me. One minute he was fine, the next he was in a panic."

The Athosian warrior sighed and hoped this would not sound too unkind given the circumstances, but honestly, "That is not so unusual for Rodney."

"It was," Ronon insisted with a low rumble, "trust me."

"I can see this has concerned you deeply," Teyla looked down at her tea and wondered if perhaps she should have intervened after all.

"It wasn't normal, even for McKay." Ronon stood and paced a short, stalking, line as soon as Teyla finished her tea, "He wasn't just startled. He moved like I was gonna kill him and there was nothing he could do. Like he forgot it was me."

As Teyla listened to Ronon, and watched him stalk agitatedly around her room she wondered if perhaps the hulking warrior didn't fully grasp how intimidating he could be to even those who knew him. Either way it was clear that John's joke had gone on for far too long and she had been complicit in it for too long.

Teyla sighed and stood, "Have you spoken with Colonel Sheppard about this?"

"I told him I thought I'd given McKay a panic attack and he laughed." Ronon stopped pacing and scratched the back of his head, "Does that make sense to you?"

"Unfortunately it does," Teyla took Ronon's cup and set it on her bedside table, "Come, we will speak with Colonel Sheppard together."

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With a familiar click the ammo clip slid into place and Colonel John Sheppard finished cleaning and assembling his guns for the 184th time since talking to Ronon and Teyla. He'd spent most of his morning in the locker room trying to think about what to say to Rodney. John set the P-90 down on the table next to the others and paused at how the light glinted off them. Those were some very clean guns.

A few feet away, Ronon and Teyla watched and waited while Dr. Beckett struggled into his tactical vest. The doctor was oblivious to the tension shared between the three team mates. John wished he could share that oblivion.

Relationships could be complicated. Colonel John Sheppard liked to keep things simple. It wasn't that he wasn't a people person, because he was. But like his father, and his father before him, and so many other members of his gender he didn't feel comfortable dealing with or acknowledging those complications. Men were supposed to just come to some sort of silent understanding. Ronon understood that. At least John thought Ronon understood that. They'd never really talked about it.

Teyla was one of the guys. One of the guys with soft, nice smelling hair, an incredible figure, and a tight little... John slapped himself inwardly. Teyla was one of the guys.

Rodney was... complicated. He wasn't really one of the anything. And he definitely didn't do silent understanding. He was always either stuck in his own head working on some problem, or else he wouldn't shut up. And since learning about that whole Phoenix Project and pulling Rodney out of hiding things between them had gotten ...well... more complicated.

The only time he and Rodney ever really saw each other for a while now had been on missions or during a crisis and then he was usually the one putting the pressure on Rodney to pull another one of his Hail Mary's. When lives were on the line it was John's job to push every member of his team to their limit and that little bit farther by whatever means necessary. That big brain didn't seem to have a limit, and the methods that coerced Rodney into bringing out his best weren't pretty. Generally John found himself threatening and coercing him any way that worked at the time given the stakes in play. It often led to arguments between them, but he had been pretty sure they'd worked through them all, though not in so many words... or really with any words.

John couldn't really say he regretted that. A lot of people would have died if Rodney hadn't been pushed to try harder, on more than one occasion. When you're standing in an active super-volcano about to blow its top with no other way off the planet than a battered up Ancient warship you use whatever motivation works. And for McKay, guilt always worked.

Most of the time John thought Rodney understood that. Hell, most of the time Rodney seemed to get a rush from the rare opportunity to impress even himself. Like, once Rodney had gotten over the terror of that whole Super Volcano thing and had some rest Radek had endured weeks of gloating. But most of the time was not all the time. The straw that broke the physicists back happened on what should have been a routine mission.

_... "Receiving Colonel Sheppard's IDC," Chuck reported._

"_They're early," Elizabeth and Beckett walked out of her office with worried expressions. It was rarely a good thing when Sheppard's team came back early._

_Rodney charged through the gate first, looking very pale, very wobbly, very angry, and more than a little panicked, "GET BECKETT!"_

_Carson, who had just been in a meeting with her, was already running down the stairs with Elizabeth close behind when the rest of Sheppard's team walked through. They were looking much more relaxed; although Colonel Sheppard already had his vest off and was obsessively wiping at the shirt underneath with a balled up towel._

_Elizabeth frowned at the contrast between the rest of the team and Rodney, then focussed on the hysterical one, "What seems to be the problem, Dr McKay?"_

"_Why are you just standing there?" Rodney ignored Elizabeth and barked at Carson, "Get your med kit and suit up! Every second counts. We have to go back now!"_

_Colonel Sheppard sighed long-sufferingly and spoke as a man who already accepted that his words would be futile, "Calm down Rodney."_

"_I'm not talking to you!" Rodney pointed and yelled at his team leader, "EVER!"_

_In an emergency he could have calmed and focussed his pet physicist with the threat of impending doom. But in the absence of an actual emergency the Colonel just focussed back on the more important matter of his shirt._

"_Just calm down and explain," Elizabeth ordered with more than a hint of irritation._

"_Aye," Carson agreed, then wrinkled his nose in disgust, "And what's that smell?"_

_Ronon grinned wolfishly at that, "McKay puked on Sheppard."_

"_Yeah well, he deserved it," Rodney glared._

_Sheppard made a disgusted face, "I did not."_

_It was left to Teyla to step once again into the role of mediator and interpreter, "One of the young villagers urgently required an appendectomy. Their physicians…"_

"_More like witch doctors," McKay interrupted morosely._

"…_did not know of this procedure and the situation was urgent so Colonel Sheppard ordered Dr McKay to carry out the procedure to the best of his ability," Teyla finished calmly._

"_Oh my god," Elizabeth's jaw dropped._

_Rodney's expression grew distant with horror, "they actually had voodoo dolls."_

"_Sheppard told McKay it would be his fault she died if he didn't at least try do it," Ronon added, with a look directed at his commander._

_The expedition leader pursed her lips into a thin line and shared the disapproving stare._

_The look of disgust as he wiped at the puke on his vest quickly transitioned to boyish innocence, "What? He did it, so no harm done."_

_Teyla sighed at Ronon and came to Sheppard's rescue, "The situation was very urgent. We did not believe she would have survived long enough for Dr Beckett to reach her. And Dr McKay performed admirably given the circumstances."_

_Ronon looked straight back at Teyla, "Except for the part where Teyla had to finish stitching up when McKay puked on Sheppard and feinted."_

_Rodney still looked feint, "It was horrible."_

"_Did it rupture?" Beckett slipped into medical mode._

"_There was so much blood," Rodney paled further._

"_How much blood?" Carson pressed, "Can you give me an estimate?" _

_Rodney looked at his trembling hands in horror, "I didn't have any of the proper tools or gloves. Oh god, gloves!"_

"_What exactly did ye use?" Carson pressed. One of his nurses jogged in with his medical bag. She'd been called the moment Rodney had charged through the gate._

"_I could have been exposed to anything!"_

"_Rod-ney! What – did – you – use - to, oh for pity sake," Carson began to enunciate his questions then gave up, took a syringe out of his bag, and promptly jabbed Rodney with it, "Now tell me about the patient."_

"_Ow," Rodney blinked, "The room wasn't clean, but the instruments were sterilized with some rubbing alcohol. I used a needle from our med-kit and one of Ronon's knives. Blood loss wasn't great but she was stable when we left. Oh, and yes. It was perforated some time before we got there. She was already suffering an infected peritonitis. I started her on a course of _piperacillin-tazobactam to be on the safe side._"_

_The room stared in shock._

"_There we go," Carson smiled victoriously._

"_What did you give him?" Teyla asked with eyes wide._

"_Just a mild sedative," Carson crowed._

"_Uh...," Colonel Sheppard gawked and the cogs of the military mind turned to the possibilities, "Can we have some of that in the med kit for, you know, emergencies?"_

"_I'm going to lie down now," Rodney announced, and promptly tipped over._

_Elizabeth turned her exasperated glare on her Chief of Medicine._

_Carson winced at the soft thud, "Perhaps not quite mild enough." _

"_I'm going to go take a shower," Sheppard sulked away. He mentally ticked sedation of any kind off his list of ways to manage a hysterical Rodney, while Carson double checked the bottle label for the sedative._

If he was honest, he might have to admit he'd been avoiding the physicist a little bit for the past couple of months. Well not avoiding so much as not trying as hard to drag him away from the lab. He hadn't really meant to, but the constant reminder of having accidentally shot his team scientist was not pleasant and the team scientist in question had been extra grumpy since being grounded while healing. Now that he thought about it though, maybe they hadn't been getting along all that great for a while now.

Three weeks. That was how long Rodney had given him the cold shoulder after the appendectomy incident; which still didn't seem particularly fair to John since Beckett had been the one to sedate him and he didn't get a silent treatment. John hadn't apologized because, as usual with McKay, things just worked out. Lives were saved, and that was the bottom line. Though apparently it wasn't that simple, because John was pretty sure that was why Rodney had retaliated by using Lucius' drug to make John do his errands. In turn, John was all too happy to loan McKay off to SG-1 for a few days and supply Colonel Mitchell with a lemon to keep him in line with. This had simply led to an escalation of bickering and one-upmanship. As much as John hated to admit it, when it came to smart-ass one liners, McKay was the champion. So, in frustration and to take him down a peg, John had arranged for Ronon to give McKay some combat training. It had seemed harmless enough at the time. After all, Rodney could benefit from the extra help. Ronon was good and John felt he could trust him. And, finally, the image of one mouthy, ego centric little astro-physicist quaking before the gargantuan Ronon was hilarious. Although now, judging by the serious looks on Ronon and Teyla's faces, it wasn't so funny anymore. Add to that Rodney had been getting increasingly prickly with everyone, not just John, since draining the cities ZPM and John had absolutely no idea how to even begin to approach him about that except to keep dumbly repeating that it wasn't his fault while dropping off sandwiches to the lab. Then he shot Rodney. He'd shot Ronon too but somehow that just wasn't as bad. With Rodney, as always, it was complicated.

"Thar we go! All ready." Carson proclaimed cheerily as he finished lacing up his boots and readjusted his tactical vest. "Ah, Rodney, there ya are! I was beginning to wonder if ye'd forgotten!"

"Yes, here I am," Rodney acknowledged in a tone that broadcasted how stupidly obvious he felt that was. He barely spared his team a glance as he walked directly to his locker and began pulling out his gear, "There were a lot of last minute additions to the compression file. People don't seem capable of grasping the concept of a deadline; even if their lives might depend on it. Which it might."

"We will meet you in the gateroom," Teyla swung hers and Carson's pack over her shoulder and gave Sheppard a meaningful look before walking out the door.

"Oh, thank you luv," Carson watched his bag walk away from him.

"Let's go," Ronon prodded the confused physician into a standing position.

"Alright, manners now," Carson huffed, "No need to get pushy. The planet's not going anywhere!"

All bravado fled when Carson turned face to chest with the imposing Runner. He had to take a couple of steps back just to look up at his face, which Ronon mirrored to herd him towards the door.

"Right then," Carson said, somewhat more faintly. "I'll see you down there Rodney."

Colonel Sheppard holstered his guns one by one, which didn't take nearly as long as he'd hoped it would, then watched his scientist finish suiting up. In stark contrast to Beckett, who to be fair didn't go off world very often, McKay slipped quickly and comfortably into his military issue gear.

Then, as was standard, he began to double check his pockets and backpack for all the important equipment. Feeling the Colonel watching him he sighed and snipped, "Just spit it out Sheppard."

Okay, thought Sheppard, looks like it's the direct approach, "Is Ronon being too rough on you?"

"I'm still in one piece, aren't I?" the tone was dismissive as Rodney slung his pack on and holstered his side arm, and walked away from the conversation. He obviously didn't want to talk about this; which naturally made it the only thing John wanted to talk about.

Sheppard hurried to keep up, "Ronon seemed to think you had some kind of panic attack."

"Oh I did not," Rodney scoffed, again dismissively, "He's exaggerating."

"...Right. I always thought of Ronon as understated in a sort of monosyllabic way," he looked at Rodney, who in the absence of a sensible comeback seemed to have settled on ignoring him again, "You know you're welcome to join our regular sparring sessions."

Rodney slowed and looked at Sheppard in surprise, "Uh, thanks, but I don't think I'm there yet."

"Still can't tuck and roll without landing on your ass?" Sheppard ribbed instinctively, then immediately regretted it.

"Oh ha, ha," Rodney snarked back, with a hint of his old humour, "you just love that, don't you."

Sheppard smirked back at him, "Well, Ronon knocks us all on our asses. I could get Lorne to bring you up to speed."

Rodney huffed in exasperation, "Listen, I know you paired me with Ronon as a joke, Sheppard."

"Uh," Sheppard stumbled and recovered his footing, "You do?"

"I'm a genius, and you're not half as subtle as you think," Rodney ribbed half-heartedly, "But look, the point is that Ronon is doing a good job. I'm fine. Really. If he was going to break me in two he'd have done it by now."

"Well okay then," Sheppard agreed, feeling better already. He'd been pretty sure that Ronon was over-reacting. Rodney was still Rodney, which sometimes meant jumpy. "I'm glad we had this talk."

A manly clap on the back was meant to seal the conversation, but the flinch and shudder under Sheppard's hand was unmistakeable. Maybe Ronon wasn't exaggerating. "Feeling jumpy, Rodney?"

"Too much coffee," Rodney snipped with renewed hostility.

"Right..." something was up. John would have pressed further but the corridor opened into the gate room and Rodney jogged to the waiting group.

"Dial her up!" Sheppard ordered as he reached the team.

"Hold on a minute," Dr Weir called down from the control room, "I'm afraid we need you to take a little detour first. Hopefully it won't take long."

"What kind of detour?" Colonel Sheppard called back.

Teyla frowned up at the expedition commander, "The Yandoran's require our assistance urgently. A delay would not be wise."

Elizabeth nodded sympathetically, "Normally I would agree, but Dr. Zelenka's team have gotten themselves locked in the ancient facility they were working in. Another team has been working on getting them out, but no luck. Given the lack of success they've had over the past year, I'm not holding my breath."

"Ugh," Rodney groaned, "he tried to take it apart, didn't he?"

"How did you guess?" Elizabeth smirked bemusedly at the grumpy head scientist. Hopefully getting off-world again would improve his mood.

"Easy," he grumped, "he's already tried every other stupid idea."

"Well," Elizabeth smirked bemusedly, "Since it seems you're still the only one who has successfully operated the facility. I want you to take a jumper through and see if you can lend a hand. And be quick if you can."

8888888888888

The incessant twitter of the portable medical scanner grated steadily on Rodney's nerves. He was trying to scroll through as much of the bio-lab research as possible on the short flight from the gate to the mountain village. Dr. Carson Beckett, however, seemed to have other ideas as he held the scanner so close to Rodney's head that he kept bumping him.

With a final bump his shoulders wound tight with irritation and Rodney looked up from his work, "Is that really necessary?"

"I should think you'd want to be cautious," the physician defended without taking his eyes off the constantly refreshing results.

"Of course I do," Rodney ranted back, "beginning with leaving this planet as soon as possible, which means solving the problem as soon as possible, which consequently means you staying out of my way as much as possible. So unless you can..."

"We're here," Sheppard cut him off, effectively rescuing Carson.

"Finally," Rodney batted the scanner away, snatched up his pack, and wasted no time in exiting the jumper. The bag very nearly dropped as a mass of children charged towards him, "Whoah, whoah, whoah!"

The mob obediently came to a halt in a metre wide circle around him.

"They're just wee children, Rodney, not the wraith," Carson joked amicably.

"Give way children, give way," the village elder nudged his way through the crowd, "My apologies Dr. McKay. They have been very excitable since learning that you would be returning."

"Kids will be kids," Sheppard waved off the apology.

"Indeed they will be," the Elder's smile broadened at the unfamiliar turn of phrase, "Alright children. You have said hello, you will see our guests again later. Now let us see to the business at hand."

All but one young girl reluctantly dispersed. Rodney recognized her as Neira, the Elders daughter.

She practically hopped up and down with excitement even as she tried to school herself to appear serious and mature, "You have returned!"

Rodney frowned down at the exited child and answered bluntly, "Obviously."

But she was undaunted, "You have come for your minions?"

"Minions?" Carson's eyes narrowed with accusation at Rodney. She could only have gotten that from him.

A hint of amusement tugged at the lips of the expeditions Head of Science, "I have."

"Father says that I shall be your official delegate since it was I who assisted you on your last visit!" the girl announced proudly.

"That's just great," Rodney moaned sarcastically.

"Yes it is," Neira agreed matter-of-factly, the sarcasm lost on her.

"With supervision, of course, but given the influence your Dr. McKay has had on her I thought it only fair he be treated to her particular brand of diplomacy," the Elder explained quietly to Colonel Sheppard.

"Of course," Sheppard nodded conspiratorially to the Elder.

With an air of resignation Rodney allowed Neira to take hold of his sleeve and tug him towards the ancient biolab, "Now come, there is no more time to lose. We tried to explain to your minions that only wizards can gain access to the wizards sanctum but they would not listen."

Rodney sighed, "And by we you mean..?"

"Mostly me," she confessed as though it were only natural and right that her opinion lead the masses.

"Of course you," Rodney huffed long-sufferingly, "Listen, I am not a wizard."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"But you are."

"But I'm not."

"But..."

"Listen," Rodney snapped more forcefully, "I think I'd know."

"Perhaps you are confused," Neira suggested firmly.

"Perhaps _I'm_ confused?" Rodney spread his free arm to emphasise how outlandish he thought that was.

"Why else would you need to repeat after me?" The young girl snarked like a pro.

Whatever Rodney might have said in return was interrupted by the laughter of his team mates.

A smug smile lit Sheppard's face, "Finally, beaten at your own game."

"Your daughter has grown most quick witted," Teyla complimented the Elder through her giggles.

"She has indeed," the Elder agreed with fatherly pride, "though her wit is better directed to her studies."

"Father, must you speak of me as though I am not right here?" Neira complained.

"I hope her studies include the definition of a scientist," Rodney grumbled humourlessly. Something inside him had stung at the exchange, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

The laughter of his team died abruptly as his darkening mood washed over them.

"Cheer up, Rodney," Carson ventured.

"I am cheerful!" Rodney lied to himself as well as his team. For the past two months he'd absolutely refused to be affected by a particular bit of non-news from his sister, he wasn't going to start now, "I'm just focussed. You do remember we're here to work? Or at least I am. I suppose you lot are here to watch."

"Alright then..." Carson surrendered, not for the first time over the past couple of months.

Rodney was grateful when they rounded the last bend and the ancient facility stood before them. The outer area was sealed up like a fortress, and a shield surrounded it. His mind was already working the problem. The first thing he'd have to do is get that shield down.

The shield immediately vanished.

...It must have drained its power source. Rodney sighed at his bad luck. That would mean the doors would have to be cut through if he couldn't find another way to open them quickly.

The doors slid open.

Wait. That shouldn't have happened.

The door slid shut again, and the shield reappeared.

Oh great, the shield again. The power supply must be unstable. Wait, maybe I can use that to help get it down.

The shield dropped again.

Colonel Sheppard tilted his head and watched the strange behaviour of the building even as the science team who had already been working on the problem backed away from it.

"Uh," one of them piped up, "we didn't do that."

Rodney frowned hesitantly, "I think I did..."

The other scientists were used to McKay having a bit of an ego but, to one of the newer ones, this was unreasonable. He spoke up, "You haven't even touched it yet. It's more likely that Dr. Zelenka is working on it from the other side."

"If they could have gotten themselves out they would have by now," Rodney argued his theory, and to prove himself turned back to the facility and willed the shield to drop and the doors to open.

They promptly obeyed.

The two trapped scientists and Lorne, who had witnessed the earlier opening and closing of the door stood back and, not wanting to get caught in the door, carefully waited to see if it would slam shut again.

"Well, come on then," Rodney snipped and strode into the all too familiar facility and muttered to Radek, "You just had to take it apart."

"That was quick, even for you," Radek observed even as his leader and friend all too quickly turned his concern away from him and crouched to fuss over the ancient console.

"Looks intact... no parts left over I trust?" Rodney asked with just a hint of tease.

The engineer rolled his eyes at the over-used generalization, "No."

"Right then," Rodney stood back up and rubbed his hands together, "Let's see if it still works."

"Well given that it hasn't worked for a year I sincerely doubt that it will," Radek began. But as soon as Rodney put his hand on it, it lit up like a Christmas Tree.

"Well I don't know what you idiots have been doing wrong all this time but it works fine," he declared and drew his hands away, leaving the console for Radek to play with.

Radek placed his hands down to key in a simple command and the console immediately powered down again.

Rodney's face dropped, "Well, that's unfortunate."

"See!" Neira proclaimed haughtily, "I told you it would only work for him!"

"There must be a way to keep it on. That makes no sense! Why build an entire facility that only works for one person?" Rodney huffed in frustration and returned to fussing over the console.

"It would work for other M'orinin too. It's all in the drawings." Neira tried to explain.

"Gah!" Rodney snipped so sharply he almost yelled, "Stop calling me that!"

She folded her arms and muttered, "You haven't changed at all."

Dr. Zelenka took off his glasses, walked to where the other scientists were watching morosely, and joined them.

"The security system must work like the personal shields, designed to encode itself to an individuals genes and allow only one person to operate it at a time," the newer scientist observed needlessly.

"Probably," one of the more seasoned scientists confirmed shortly.

"Man," he continued with a groan, "All those wasted man hours!"

The unneeded reminder elicited a soft groan from the other scientists.

"Please stop talking," Zelenka begged as politely as he could given the level of his frustration.

888888888888888888

The team, plus Beckett, gathered in front of the Atlantis Gate for the second time that day; and only an hour late for their original mission. But this time Rodney was dawdling alongside Radek

"And don't forget to..."

"Yes Rodney," Radek impatiently interrupted the lengthening list of things he mustn't forget, "You have left needlessly extensive documentation of everything that must be done, as usual."

"Fine," Rodney turned to the control room and theatrically pointed at Radek, "I fetched my minion. Can I go now?"

"I prefer colleague," Radek frowned.

"I'm sure you do," Rodney answered in a head-patting tone.

"Yes Rodney, you can go," Elizabeth called down from the balcony of the control room.

"You're sure this time?" Rodney called back up to her, "Because I'd hate to get all the way to another planet and have to turn around."

"Go," Elizabeth ordered with a light smile.

"Try not to break anything while I'm gone," Rodney made one last quip to Radek but the attempt at humour was betrayed by the heaviness to his step as he climbed the ramp behind Teyla and Ronon and disappeared through the wormhole.

"You coming, Beckett?" Sheppard slapped the expedition doctor on the back to snap him out of the nervous stare he'd locked on the Stargate. In true McCoy fashion the doctor hated travelling through the gate, even more so on foot.

"Aye," the nervous physician sighed in resignation and followed the Colonel through the gate.

The wormhole evaporated behind them.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 03 – Overload

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The light of the wormhole sent rippling waves of blue over the walls of the cavern. Frosty puffs of breath appeared in front of each of the five team mates faces as they exited the worm hole. The wormhole evaporated moments after Carson exited and he quickly turned and felt behind his back to make certain it was all still there.

"Carson," Rodney sighed, "You're still all there."

"Aye, how can you be so sure?" Carson demanded with only a little quaver. He always imagined just a few of his atoms winding up scattered across the galaxy each time. There were so many, who would miss them until one day they were just shorter or...

The team physicist rolled his eyes and flipped on his flashlight, "Carson, seriously. How many times have you been through the gate now? It's perfectly safe. It's safer than airplane travel. And this is _me_ saying that."

"There will never be enough times to convince me that being disassembled and reassembled like tha' is healthy," Carson proclaimed as he joined the others.

"Well if experience won't do it, how about science?" Rodney sniped sarcastically.

He was about to review said science for the benefit of everyone, especially Carson, when Sheppard interrupted, "Let's just get moving."

"Fine," Rodney surrendered a little too easily and followed the team into the narrow passageway that led to the outside world.

The world outside of the cavern would have been as dark as within but for the constant streaks of lightning darting across the black clouds that filled the sky. The precipice they now stood on overlooked an enormous valley. Mountain ranges were barely visible in the distance.

They could barely make out the outlines of dim multi-story buildings sprawled across the landscape below. It was the central city of five thriving cities that lay beyond the valley. The centre piece of the display was what drew the attention of the five member team. In the middle of the city, and towering high above the mountain they now stood on, the narrow spike of a tall tower swept downward in a widening spiral and sloped into a broad base. It was of ancient design, and it was the reason that the cities here had been able to thrive amidst the threat of the wraith. It was a planetary cloaking device. Unfortunately, it wasn't working.

"This is bad," Ronon observed grimly.

Rodney looked at Ronon, "Isn't that usually my line?"

When running from the wraith, Ronon had always avoided places like this. Any planet that advanced or populous was wiped out. Most people of Pegasus would avoid a place like this.

"I get it," Rodney snapped, once again feeling the unpleasantly familiar weight of a world settle on his shoulders, "I'm here to do a preliminary assessment. If I can fix it now, I will, but more than likely I'll need a larger team with parts and equipment."

"I'm just sayin' faster is better," Ronon gripped his gun and pushed the images of Sateda from his mind.

"Obviously," Rodney grumbled.

"Easy buddy," Sheppard slapped the large warrior on the back, "Rodney'll get it fixed in no time."

"If I can!" the physicist bristled at guarantees being offered on his behalf.

"Teyla!" a robust, official looking man greeted from the head of the path leading down the mountain, "Welcome. These are the friends you spoke of?"

He looked at the other visitors, keen to get down to business quickly. Since the Great Spiral had ceased to function the cities had been struggling with no power, and the storms been increasing in intensity with each passing day. They had been considering evacuation until their Athosian trading partners had suggested that they knew of a people who were skilled in repairing such devices and would be willing to do so in exchange for knowledge. His people were most advanced in the study of pharmaceuticals. It was just as well as a large scale evacuation would have proved impossible.

"Ambassador Malin," Teyla bowed her head in greeting and motioned to each of the team in turn, "Yes. This is Colonel Sheppard, Ronon, Dr Beckett, and Dr McKay."

"We expected only one doctor," his confusion was innocent and all too common in the Pegasus Galaxy.

"Different kind of doctor..." Rodney moaned plaintively under his breath. He'd lost track of the number of times he'd had to clarify and decided to let the others do it this time.

Carson was grinning ridiculously.

"Which one is the scientist then?" the Ambassador looked for the one that could save his peoples home.

The physicians face fell at that.

"I'll give you a hint," Rodney crowed and pointed at Carson, "It's not him."

"Oy!" Carson protested, "Medicine is a science!"

"Barely," Rodney countered with a smirk.

"Among their people doctor is a title which denotes a particular level of education," Teyla regained control of the conversation before the two doctors could confuse their host further, "Dr Beckett is a doctor of medicine, Dr McKay is a doctor of Astrophysics and Engineering."

"I see," Malin turned to Dr McKay, "Your assistance with the Great Spiral will be much appreciated. Come, there is little time to lose."

"Hold that thought," Rodney had his scanner out and was holding it out towards the valley. He looked up, and pointed his scanner to the sky.

"McKay..." Sheppard grumbled impatiently. It was cold up there.

"Working here," McKay snapped back.

"It's alright," Malin watched the strange mans fingers fidget and tap erratically at his side, "you have a thought?"

"The sky isn't always like this, is it?" Rodney pointed upward.

"No," the ambassador confirmed. "There has never been such a storm as this. Certainly not that has lasted so long."

"That must be because the tower draws power directly from the ionosphere. This planets upper atmosphere must be naturally supercharged, for reasons that I won't go into here. It's the perfect self-renewing power source. Well, not perfect. Nothing's perfect." He spared a cocky glance for the Ambassador, "There's close though. I would know."

"Oh for pity sake," Beckett muttered.

"No it's more than that, to cloak a planet it would have to..." the expeditions top scientist slipped deep into thought, then animatedly snapped his fingers and pointed, "that's it! The device doesn't just draw power from the ionosphere. Rather than generate a new energy field it transforms the pre-existing energy field."

The increasingly animated scientist motioned up to the sky, "The, uh, storm is forming because the tower is no longer drawing power and the energy field is both reverting and renewing, creating a kind of..." He looked at the blank stares and sighed, "If we get it running again the storm should dissipate. If we don't then this planet will become uninhabitable in anywhere between a few months to a few years."

"Wonderful," Malin clapped his hands together. If the doctor who did not practice medicine was able to learn this much from a first glance he would surely be able to repair it once he examined it more closely.

"Wonderful!" Rodney blinked at him, "Did you not hear me? Did he not hear me? Let me try again..."

"I am only pleased to see that with your help our chances have indeed increased greatly," Malin explained, "If you are ready to continue I will take you directly to the Spiral's Inner Chambers."

The Ambassador led them only a short way down the path and stopped at a small cable car, swaying lightly in the power mountain wind.

Rodney paled, "Wait, we're going down in that?"

"The alternative route is long and perilous," the ambassador advised.

Colonel Sheppard took one look at the steep, winding path and ordered, "Rodney, get in the cable-car."

"What's the matter? Don't trust the science?" Ronon teased before ducking in.

The two doctors looked at each other and back at the gently swaying cable car then gulped in unison.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," the quaver in Carson's voice utterly betrayed the attempt to be positive, "it will be just like on a ski slope."

"You've been skiing?" Rodney asked his friend in surprise. Carson had never before implied that he was into any sport but fishing, which Rodney didn't think was really a sport.

"Nay," Carson shook his head, "but winter sports are quite popular in Canada, aren't they?"

Surprise, exasperation, and then irritation flitted across Rodney's features, "Can I assume you carry a bagpipe in that bag of yours then?"

"I didn't mean," Carson started, but then Rodney stomped off into the cable car. He hadn't meant that he'd thought Rodney had been skiing. He'd just been trying to familiarize the technology.

"Saved you a window seat, buddy," Sheppard waved Rodney over. A momentary look of gratitude flitted across the claustrophobic mans features as he settled down and searched for a seatbelt.

"There's no seatbelt," Rodney proclaimed when he found none.

"You know," Sheppard tried to be helpful again, "they say the majority of accidents happen at home anyway."

"Yes, well. I doubt the Stargate program was consulted for those statistics." Rodney folded his arms across himself and settled to looking out the window for the rest of the journey. In the glass reflection he could see Ronon sitting across from them. To most he would just look like a generic stoic warrior ready for any old generic fight. But to those who knew him well he looked haunted. Teyla rested her hand on his.

Rodney refocused his vision to the view outside and tried not to listen to Carson squeaking and moaning at every bounce and sway of the car. He could see the windows of the tallest buildings now. Yellow light flickered out of the windows. 'Candles,' he thought. He already knew that these people lacked any ability to generate power themselves. They'd been drawing everything they needed from the ancient device for a few hundred years now. That's probably what had broken it. If he could get it working again he'd already added a naquada generator to the list of equipment to provide for them. He hoped the pharmaceutical knowledge these people claimed to have would prove to be worth the trade. Naquada generators were not easy to come by.

"Perhaps, if your companion is able to repair the Great Spiral, the storm will clear in time for the coming of the Ancestral Lights." Ambassador Malin broke the silence, hoping to distract the medical doctor from his fears, "If so, you must join us for the celebration."

"A celebration sounds lovely," Carson answered as politely as he could while trying to hold his breakfast down.

"It is indeed a great event," Malin frowned up at the clouds, "Although I fear we have already missed the Procession of the Prophets."

"Prophets?" Rodney scoffed unthinkingly.

"It is what we call the phenomenon," Malin clarified for the scientist, "Once every seventy cycles great bursts of light appear in the sky above and last for three days. Legend tells that they are the Spirits of the Ancestors come to bless us and give us another seventy cycles of prosperity. They are often hailed by a much smaller display which occurs a day or two prior. It may already be happening as we speak. The Blessing comes only once in a life time."

Rodney eyes widened with the horror of realization, "And you're just telling us this NOW?"

"Is there a problem?" Sheppard asked with a forced calm. This already didn't sound good.

"Either I'm wrong or we are in big trouble!"

No sooner had the words left the panicking astro-physicists mouth than did the sound of an explosion echo from the distance, followed by another closer, then more. Shouts of alarm rose from the city below.

"I'm never wrong," Rodney lamented.

"The wraith!" Ronon snarled.

"It's not the wraith," Rodney informed, but looking no less horrified for the fact, "We have to get on the ground now."

As if by command, the cables holding the car up snapped with the next explosion and they plummeted the last story and a half to the ground. The force of the impact reverberated up their seats and shocked the breath out of them.

"Rodney!" Sheppard rasped accusingly. Although Rodney still claimed that he had no discernible telepathic ability and was incapable of controlling what he had, Sheppard had been nursing a suspicion that his subconscious sometimes helped things along.

'You can't possibly blame me,' would have been Rodney's retort, but it came out as a wheeze instead.

Most of them were still recovering when Ronon leapt from the fallen cable car with his weapon drawn. He searched the sky for wraith darts.

Still coughing, Rodney forced himself to his feet and staggered after the warrior. Masses of panicking people filled the streets outside burning buildings. Smoke and ash clouded the air. Rodney turned on his heel and searched the skyline until he found the Ancient Tower, then broke into a run towards it, disappearing into the panicking throng.

"McKay, wait!" Sheppard staggered out of the jumper.

8888888888888888

It was mayhem. The remaining Spire guards looked out at the burning city, their swords at ready to defend the tower. From what, they did not know. Their role had always been ceremonial, to protect that which protected their people. Their armour was polished to a golden shine and their only weapons were an equally untarnished blade that hung at their sides. As soon as the destruction began to rain from the sky the bulk of the tower guards were sent into the city to assist the population. Only a handful remained behind with one commander, at ready, holding to the hope that the structure they defended might yet be brought to the defence of their people. The commander sent up a silent prayer for a miracle, if ever they needed the power of the Ancestors it was now.

Suddenly a man burst from the panicking crowds and ran towards the tower. The guards drew their swords, at ready. It would not be so surprising if a citizen felt betrayed by the tower and was moved to strike against its protectors. Men did strange things in times of great loss.

"Hold!" the commander called out, then observed the strange clothing the man was wearing. This must be one of the strangers Ambassador Malin was bringing to restore the Great Spire. "Let him pass."

The guards parted way just in time for the stranger to burst past them. The Spire Passage began opening for him before he'd even reached it, and he slid sideways through it. That had never happened before. Surely it was a good omen.

"If others of his kind approach let them through," the commander ordered and followed the stranger into the Spire.

The stranger darted frenetically about the Ancestral Chamber, knocking the offerings off of the Ancestral Alter without reverence and pulling the sacred cloths from the walls. He knocked yet more offerings away from the central column, where some citizenry had taken to offering their prayers since it had gone dark. The commander didn't mind. They too were only ceremonial to most. Traditions could be restored, lives could not.

"Crap," the stranger lamented after he'd pulled down the final cloth on a far wall. A sealed compartment with a stained glass window was alive with sparks and appeared to burn from within.

He returned to the altar and it glowed at his touch. That was something else that the commander had never seen before. The screen above the altar sparked and turned black.

"Double crap," the stranger lamented again and pulled a flat black object from his bag. "Hey wait a minute, if this is working there must be a back-up power supply."

He connected the object to altar with a thin black rope and seemed to study it, then ran to another wall and pressed one of the ornamentations. A shelf with a dimly lit crystal object presented itself to him and he pointed a small silver device at it, "Depleted... it's nearly depleted. It's nearly depleted so ok fine! The hard way it is!"

He pushed it back into place and ran back to the device he'd attached to the console.

"Of course I have to sever them manually," he sounded more irritated than surprised. He ran to the outer spire and directly to the large conduit that drew power from the Spire for the second city. He pulled at it futilely and yelled at it. "It's fused! WHY CAN'T IT EVERY BE EASY!"

"Assist him!" the commander ordered his men and the stranger flinched away as a sword sliced past him and effortlessly through the thick cable.

"Th-they all have to go," he stammered and stared with wide eyes at the blade that had passed so close to him. "Disconnect everything that connects this tower to any of the cities.

The commander nodded his assent to his guards and they rushed to obey while the off-worlder ran back into the tower. The commander followed.

He watched as the stranger scooped up the discarded sacred cloths and bundled them around his hands. He used them to protect himself as he pried at the panel on the burning compartment.

"McKay!" another off-worlder ran into the chamber, "report."

"It's broken. I'm patching it. Gah!" the one called Rodney pulled away from the compartment as the panel fell away and flames licked out at him.

"Beckett, Teyla, and Ronon are already helping with the wounded. What's going on?" the one who seemed be in charge, or at least think he was, demanded.

"Commander," a tower guard ran in and saluted, "the cables are severed."

"Shut up and help me, Sheppard," Rodney wrapped the bulk of the clothes between himself and the sparking apparatus and pulled. The commander and the newcomer, Sheppard, both rushed to help him. It shifted and toppled to the floor just as the cloths burst into flames. Sheppard pulled the one he called Rodney out of the way and stomped at the flames.

"Your sword," Rodney took off his jacket and snapped his fingers at the tower guard. It was handed over without question. Rodney carefully pushed the tip of the sword into the base of the still sparking compartment and, with the jacket as protection, wedged the hilt partially into the top.

"McKay," Sheppard said with a warning tone.

"Working here," Rodney snapped and, with some effort, picked up one of the iron ceremonial candle stands he'd discarded. With his jacket wrapped where he held it, he swung it at the sword to force it the rest of the way in place. Sparks flew. He fell back, shielding himself, then scrambled back to the altar. "You're gonna want to take some cover now."

Sheppard took the commander and the guard by the arm and pulled them behind the altar where Rodney was already crouching.

"Routing full power now," Rodney announced with a quaver. He pressed a button and lightning shot across the room with a crack like thunder. The central column came alive with a light that moved upward and beamed into the sky.

For the first time in weeks the Light of the Ancestors returned. The screaming of the city outside stilled and the commander could envision his people, even those in agony from their wounds, holding their breath with hope. The light from the column vanished first at the base, then followed itself upward.

"It worked," Rodney whispered in awe, then ran outside and looked up. The beam disappeared into the sky and the storm began to change. A shield spread outwards, consuming the clouds and lightning. The bombardment that had been hitting the planet created a spectacular show as they burst into light and waves of concussive force spread harmlessly across the sky. A rumble spread through the city. It was quiet at first, then grew louder. The people were cheering.

Gradually the bombardment slowed and then stopped completely. John figured the Wraith must have known that trying to get past the shield was a waste of ammo.

"Ronon, Beckett, Teyla report," Sheppard ordered into his earpiece.

'We're all ok,' Ronon's gruff voice answered, 'Beckett and Teyla are helping with the wounded. I'm digging people out.'

"Good, I've got Rodney. We'll head back your way shortly," Sheppard was keen to get his team all in one place again.

"Good work McKay," Sheppard clapped him on the back a little too hard, "Don't ever run ahead of the team again."

The Ambassador came running with arms wide and stopped just short of hugging the scientist, "Wonderful, wonderful! Your reputation among the planets is indeed well earned. We will happily share all of our medical knowledge with your people. We look forward to a long alliance."

That might have been one of McKay's few great diplomatic moments, but Ambassador Malins face fell at the expression on the scientists face.

"Oh no," Rodney quaked, and leaned against the wall of the tower as hopelessness overtook him.

Colonel Sheppard followed his gaze up the mountain range and along to the crater and rubble right where the Stargate used to be. Well that was unfortunate, but not a total disaster. "Relax Rodney, the Daedalus is due in a little over a week. When Elizabeth doesn't hear from us she'll send them along to pick us up. Think of it as a free vacation."

"You don't even begin to contemplate how screwed we are right now," McKay ranted, quickly building to a panic, and jabbed a finger at the sky, "that is not going to last."

"Excuse us," Sheppard smiled at the Ambassador and hauled Rodney away from the cheering throngs and into the privacy of the Spire; which seemed a little pointless to the people immediately outside as he failed to lower his voice and the chamber was far from sound proof.

"What do you mean it's not going to last? You said you were fixing it!"

"I said I was 'patching' it! The patch is going to wear off within a matter of hours."

"This planet is a sitting duck for the wraith!"

"That wasn't the wraith! Those were meteors."

"That wasn't the wraith?"

"The Wraith are the least of their worries! You know that pretty light show that the locals were so worried about missing? Every seventy years this planet travels through a massive asteroid field. The cloak turns into a shield during the event."

"Creating a pretty awesome light show."

"Well, it won't be so pretty this time. And that was just a little preshow."

"You mean that wasn't it?"

"I said it was massive."

"How massive?"

"Massively massive!"

"Rodney..."

"When the real meteor storm hits it will last days, not minutes."

"How long before the next meteor shower?"

"Five days, maximum."

"Good. That should give you some time to get the shield back up."

"I'd love to, but it's broken."

"What do you mean it's broken?"

"What do you mean what do I mean it's broken? It's broken!"

"It can't be broken. We need it to work!"

"In an ideal world that reasoning alone would fix it. But that's not going to cut it here! This smoking device we hauled out of the wall is designed to manage and maintain a stable stream of power. What they did was introduce... instability! The power requirements of five hundred million people are incredibly inconsistent. This one vital part has been completely fried."

"Can't you just take it out and work around it?"

"It can't be bypassed. Didn't I just say it's a vital part?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying they broke it."

"Well, can you fix it?"

"No!"

"What do you mean no?"

"That's it. I'm getting you a pocket dictionary for Christmas."

"I know what no means. But no isn't good enough!"

"Look at the part! Do you think I carry a spare part around like that with me? I AM NOT MARY FREAKING POPPINS AND THIS IS NOT A MAGICAL BOTTOMLESS BAG!"

"I didn't say you were..."

"This is a disaster."

"Calm down."

"We are trapped on a planet about to suffer a cataclysmic event, again! I trust you remember what cataclysmic means THIS TIME?"

"Well, if you can't fix it, what can you do?"

"What do you mean, what can I do?"

"There's a lot of people counting on you to get this thing running."

"Do you think I don't KNOW that? What am I supposed to use to generate enough power to shield a planet? A ZedPM can't even do that! Which doesn't matter anyway because, SURPRISE, the only one the ancients left behind is depleted. It has the power to run basic systems for maybe a few more months. As usual they didn't bother to leave any spares around. And, in case you missed it, these people drew ALL their power from here. They haven't invented so much as a battery. Their energy production capacity is zero."

"You said the power was in the storm."

"Yes, the power is in the storm but this really large, irreplaceable relay is required to transfer the energy from the storm into this buffer which then funnels into the beam that transitions the remaining ionospheric energy field into... that's it."

"What?"

"I don't need to generate enough energy to cloak a planet. I just need to generate enough energy to power the beam. If we can just maintain the catalyzation beam at a reasonably steady level the ionospheric field itself will do the rest."

"That's good."

"Not really. It's still impossible. It's just less impossible."

"Well, then try!"

"With what?"

Ambassador Malin had heard enough. He straightened his robe and walked into the facility, "Instruct us in what you need and my people will martial all of their efforts to provide it. Of that I am certain."

Colonel Sheppard threw an easy-going smile at Dr McKay, "See? Easy as that."

"I really hate you sometimes," Rodney spared a glare for Sheppard, then turned to the Ambassador, "Get me your top engineers, architects, and chemists, a list of all the materials you process or are capable of processing quickly on this planet, a briefing on your natural resources, something to write with and a lot of paper. We're also going to need some serious man power."

888888888888888888

Snap shots of the cave paintings of P3R785 were spread across the tables in Dr. Weirs lab. Not many knew she had a lab. She liked to keep it that way. It meant she could occasionally work in peace. In a city of astrophysicists, mechanics, chemists, and biologists most didn't give much thought to her particular branch of the sciences anyway, much to the irritation of the entire Social Sciences department. It wasn't a large department.

The people of P3R785 had some fascinating legends regarding what they called the M'orinin. At first, the presence of the noun 'Ori' within the term had caused some concern. Not least because everything they knew of the Alteran's and the Ori said that the two had parted ways in a far away Galaxy and had remained entirely separate throughout the Alteran's time in the Milky Way and in Pegasus. Any contact between the Alreran's and the Ori in Pegasus surely would have resulted in Earth being revealed. But a fuller translation revealed that M'orinin was most like a derogatory term, meaning Those Who are Likened to the Ori. The Alterans had been strongly opposed to the direction this particular group of scientists was taking their research in. Some of the local legends, passed down by word of mouth, even went so far as to blame the M'orinin for the existence of the wraith. Of course, these were some of the same local legends that made claim that M'orinin were warlocks who ate naughty children. They were stories told to children to help them make sense of the ever looming threat and which they were expected to one day grow out of. Still, even the vaguest possibility of learning more about the Wraith and maybe even how to defeat them had been what spurred Elizabeth to authorize so many return visits. The more they'd learned, the less pleased Rodney was that the children of that planet had chosen to liken him to these 'fairy tale monsters' as he called them. As far he was concerned, Alteran, Ori, or M'orinin, they were all just 'advanced human civilizations that were no better or more capable than the rest of us'. There was no room for magic, wizardry, or warlocks in Rodney McKay's world.

Having poured over the newly downloaded schematics of the M'orinin facility Dr Zelenka could find no evidence of a security system that would bind itself to an individuals unique genetic code. He had, however, found something that would detect electrical field differentiations in life forms. In simplified terms, biological life is electro-chemical. The M'orinin most likely had an altered electrical field. Which was no great surprise given the type of experiments they were clearly running. This group had probably been responsible for the trapped energy beast the expedition encountered on Atlantis only days after their arrival.

The fact that the M'orinin facility responded only to Rodney now gave Elizabeth pause for concern. Ba'al and the SGC had both likened the results of the Phoenix Weapons Project to the powers of the Prior's of the Ori. They knew Rodney had been chemically altered. Had he somehow been electrically altered as well? The last thing he probably needed right now was to have all that drudged up again, particularly considering how down he'd been lately. But no amount of diplomatic skill on her part would curb Dr Carson Beckett when he found out.

She was drawn from her thoughts when her watch beeped. It was almost time for the data-burst to Earth; which meant the rest of her afternoon would be spent pouring over paperwork from Stargate Command. Lab time was up. Elizabeth left her work where it lay and mentally locked the door behind her. Maybe she'd get a chance to pick up where she'd left off tomorrow.

She left the 'soft sciences' wing and took the route that brought her through the 'hard sciences' wing. Sure enough, Dr. Zelenka seemed unaware of the time while he poured over the schematics of the M'orinin facility.

"How's it going?" Elizabeth asked when he didn't notice her.

He jumped and nearly fell out of his chair, "Dr. Weir!"

"Me," she confirmed wryly.

"Ah, well," he moved to share the laptop monitor with her, "I believe I have identified the spectrum of energy which the facility will respond to. But I do not see how we can recreate it."

"Good work," Elizabeth commended, "but you'll have to put this aside for now. The scheduled data burst is in ten minutes."

Dr Zelenka's eyes widened with the panic of a man who had forgotten something vitally important.

"That won't be a problem, will it?" Elizabeth frowned. This was to be their first time scheduling a data burst while Rodney was off world. The compression program he used had been very complex and it had taken him time to create a simplified interface.

"No, no problem," Dr Zelenka insisted a little too quickly, "I will be right there."

"Alright then, don't be long," Elizabeth called, already on her way out the door and to the transporter that would whisk her to the control room.

"Lieutenant," she greeted the floppy haired Canadian.

Chuck smiled and nodded, "Dr. Weir. I was about to call you. SGA1 is a few minutes late checking in."

"That sounds like them," Elizabeth sighed down at the gate, "Isn't the gate in a cave at the top of a mountain?"

"Yes ma'am. The delay is probably nothing to be concerned about." Chuck confirmed in his politely Canadian way.

"I agree," Elizabeth nodded and turned from the gate, "even so, let's give them a call after the data burst, just to be sure."

"I've got it! I'm here!" Radek burst out of the transporter, half tangled in lap top cables.

"Right on time," Elizabeth couldn't help but smirk as she watched him hook up the interface. The wisps of mouse brown hair that stuck out and wafted in the slightest breeze made him look like a perpetually frazzled mad professor. "You're sure you've got it?"

"Yes yes." Radek nodded emphatically as he opened the monitor, set up the program, and double checked the compression file, "Rodney has simplified the interface for the encryption program a great deal. Is so simple, maybe even Chuck could do it."

"Even Chuck," Weir repeated the slight, but as ever the civilian scientists were as oblivious to the level of expertise their military counterparts shared as they were to the contributions of the 'soft sciences' departments.

Chuck frowned at that, but refrained from muttering. He was a remote communications technology specialist with a doctorate in computer sciences.

"Okay then," Dr Weir smiled down at Chuck and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. She knew that feeling. "Dial the gate."

The wormhole burst into existence and evaporated almost instantly.

Elizabeth looked down at Dr Zelenka, who was intent on the monitor before him, "Well?"

He turned a delighted, and discomfortingly surprised, smile up at her, "Information sent and received, Dr. Weir."

"Good job. Having someone other than Rodney who can do this should make life a little bit easier. Maybe you can show Chuck how to do it too," she winked conspiratorially at the highly trained lieutenant but he was too distracted by the alarmed expression that had settled on Dr. Zelenka's face. His jaw hung open. "What is it?"

He closed his mouth, seemingly remembering where he was, and swallowed, "It is a message from Dr. Carter to Dr. McKay."

"Should you be reading that?" Elizabeth had hoped he'd know better than to take liberties with the information.

"It was marked priority one," Radek explained, meaning that if Dr. McKay wasn't immediately available the information would fall to his next in command.

Now Elizabeth was concerned, "What is it?"

"He is advised to immediately cease all of his work on Dr. Blacks project and forward a full report of its current status to Stargate Command," Radek turned the screen to Elizabeth so she could read for herself.

"Oh my god. How is this possible?" The most respected and internationally trusted scientist they'd had for decades had been a traitor for all those decades. What's more, he was the head scientist for the Phoenix Weapons Project. She closed the screen and looked at Radek, "What was Rodney working on?"

"I am not sure of all the details. Something to do with advanced computer processor using manipulation of energy fields in subspace. I confess it was beyond me. He has modified some Ancient equipment for measuring various forms of energies normally too subtle to detect and manipulating their states. It was something to amuse him in his spare time. I have not kept up to date with his progress. Something like this should be many lifetimes from any sort of practical application, but..." he removed his glasses and cursed as realization smacked him like a truck.

"Manipulation of energy fields," Elizabeth repeated, then turned to Chuck, "Dial SGA1."

Chuck had no idea what they were talking about but sensed the urgency, "I can't get a lock."

"Why not?" Elizabeth demanded.

"It's like the gate's not there," he tried again, "and there are no gates in jumper range to that planet."

"Keep trying. In the mean time, Dr. Zelenka, you're going to have to do your best to learn how far along in his research Rodney was." Given that this was Rodney McKay they were talking about the answer was probably 'pretty far'. He did nothing by halves.

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It was two days since they'd arrived on this stupid planet with the stupidly positioned gate and the stupidly large civilization planted directly in the path of a stupid asteroid belt with nothing to protect it but but but... Rodney cursed and yelled up at whatever ancestors might be watching and listening but not helping because of their stupid non-interference policies, "You're morons! You hear me! That's right! I, Rodney McKay, smartest man in two galaxies, am calling you out!"

He folded his arms and scowled up at the sky. Unsurprisingly, the only answer was the dark clouds that had once again gathered overhead. In the absence of anything hitting it the shield had lasted longer than he expected, but without the catalyzing beam to maintain whatever process encouraged the ionospheric energy to shift into a shield was wearing off.

Three days. He was painfully aware of how close they were cutting it. He was working on borrowed time. The ambassador had said that the main event usually followed two days after the first. The sensors in the tower confirmed that the main meteor storm was almost upon them. He was tired, and his head hurt even more than usual. But there was no time to rest. He stuffed down a power bar, he'd lost track of how many he'd had, and turned his attention back to his utterly ridiculous and doomed to fail attempt to generate enough power to keep them all alive through this.

Three days of instructing the backward people of this planet in how to turn their resources towards creating an impossible amount of power, and then finding a way to work around it when they, obviously, proved incapable of producing an impossible amount of power. The circumference of the valley was now completely lines with thousands of giant cylinders, filled with a highly efficient rechargeable battery fluid which Rodney had instructed their chemists in producing. He had to admit, he was impressed with the speed and quantity they'd managed to produce it in. Then again, he knew very well that imminent death was a great motivator. Thick cables led out of the battery cylinders and attached to the cables that had attached the surrounding cities to the tower. He traced the connections on his laptop, double checking every detail. Once out of the valley, instead of leading to the cities the cables divided and spread out to every kind of power source that Rodney had been able to think of that could be harnessed from this planet. A thick cable now connected the central column that would produce the catalyzing beam, to a circle of mechanisms that Rodney had cobbled together and surrounded the area immediately outside the tower, which was in turn connected to the cables which led to the batteries. The mechanisms would connect and disconnect the battery supplies on remote command from his laptop.

"How's it going Rodney?" Sheppard stifled a yawn and came out of the tower where he'd been taking a quick nap. It had been pretty apparent that there wasn't much he and Ronon could do other than stay out of the way and be available for heavy lifting and message handling when asked. And to calm and refocus McKay as needed. McKay's yelling had woken him so he figured it was time for calming him.

The rage that had been directed at the heavens quickly turned on the Colonel, "I swear to you if you remind me one more time that we are running out of time I will overpower Ronon and shoot you with his gun. Anyway, I think we're ready."

Ronon levelled a doubtful look on the scientist and pushed off of from where he'd been sitting and watching.

"You 'think' we're ready?" Sheppard repeated and looked at the monitor. The meteor storm looked pretty close.

"The solar panels and wind turbines have fully charged all the battery cylinders. Thermal power is being drawn from the geyser fields in the west," Rodney paused and rubbed his eyes, "And um, the wave generators are working as well as can be expected. The windmills seem to be running smoothly. There's plenty of wind actually. Hopefully they won't fall apart or we're screwed. It might buy us some time. I have no idea how well constructed or stable it will all be. I've had to forego fully supervising every ... uh... I'm concerned that the capacitors might not be able to handle it but it's all we've got so it will have to do. And that's it. I'm tapped out of ideas for generating power, short of a billion hamsters on wheels. ...Does this planet have hamsters?"

Shepherd frowned at how the scientist stumbled over his words. His mind seemed to be wandering. He wished he could order him to get some sleep but it wasn't an option. He settled on handing him a couple of caffeine pills, "Is it enough to maintain the beam?"

"No," Rodney swallowed the pills dry.

"What do you mean, no?" What was all this for if it wasn't going to work?

"I already explained this!" the overtired man snapped, "The beam is a catalyst for the process that turns the storm into a shield. In an ideal world the beam would be constant, low level, stable. But, big surprise, this isn't an ideal world. There is no way to produce enough power to maintain the beam."

Sheppard waved an arm out towards the edge of the valley and all the efforts the people of this planet had devoted to McKay's plan, "How can all that not be enough power!"

"It takes a lot of power!" Rodney yelled, "I'm sure I mentioned a ZedPM couldn't do it!"

"So what have you been doing for three days?" Sheppard yelled back. He hated feeling helpless. There was nothing here for any of them to do except depend on Rodney to know what he was doing and stupidly watch while he ran himself ragged.

"Listen to me," Rodney over-enunciated as though speaking to a child, "I can't maintain the beam but I can shoot it in controlled bursts."

"Bursts?" Sheppard repeated back, slightly mystified. They didn't need bursts of a shield, they needed a stable shield.

Rodney sighed and rubbed his temple, "That's what I said."

"And that's enough to maintain the shield?" Sheppard asked. It seemed like an important point to clarify.

"No. That's enough to catalyze the ionosphere to produce the shield for a little while. Then hopefully the batteries will charge up again and we can send up another beam before the shield dissipates. Oh just watch," He huffed and hit a button on the lap top. Energy sparked around the mechanisms and a short beam shot out of the tower and into the sky. The clouds that had been forming faded away into a hazy shield, blurring the stars above.

"Okay..." Sheppard looked up. That beam had seemed a lot smaller than the one he'd seen a couple of days ago, "how long will it last?"

"How long will what last?" Rodney mumbled under another yawn, and shook his head.

"The shield," Sheppard clarified.

"I have no way of knowing that." Rodney griped, and embraced the irritation and anger to keep himself moving, "It's entirely dependent on how badly it gets hammered by the meteors."

Nothing about this sounded good to Sheppard, "How long before the batteries are charged enough for another burst?"

"I don't know," Rodney spread his arms and practically yelled at the man who had guaranteed everyone he would save the day, again.

"What do you mean you don't know?" John struggled to keep his calm, "That's the sort of thing you need to know!"

"Don't start that again," Rodney jabbed a finger at his chest, "Wind and waves are not a consistent source of power. It depends on how strong the wind is and how strong the currents are. It's going to vary."

The first of the larger meteor shower began to pelt against the shield surrounding the planet, creating ripples around splashes of light like stones in a pond. Sheppard looked up, and back at Rodney, "but the shield will last until then."

"I don't know!" the physicist whined in exasperation.

"Well can you give me an idea?" Sheppard refused to accept they were that screwed. Failure was not an option.

"No!" Rodney huffed, and patted down his pockets in search of another power bar.

"All I'm asking for here is a ball park figure," Sheppard offered what he considered a compromise.

"Why is it that I'm the only one who EVER seems to grasp the full magnitude of an EXTINCTION LEVEL EVENT! What do you want from me?" Rodney gave up his search for a power bar and turned full rant on Sheppard, "Either it will last until the planet passes through the meteor belt or we'll all be obliterated. There is no in between here so what difference will an estimate make?"

John didn't really have an answer for that, so he made one up, "It can make a tactical difference."

"What tactics? This isn't something you can throw a grenade at, Colonel!"

"Okay," Sheppard ran a hand through his hair and searched for a strategic problem he could solve, an order to give, anything he could do to guarantee their safe passage through an extinction level event. "Can you give a ball park figure?"

"You want an estimate?" The overworked scientist snapped and clenched a shaking fist, "fine. Twelve hours, eight minutes, and thirty seconds."

Pushing obviously wasn't helping. Sheppard put a steadying hand on Rodney's shoulder, "Will it last long enough for you to get some sleep?"

Rodney shook his head, "I need to monitor the power levels and fluctuations to prevent any overload and deal with instability issues, and make sure any significant dip in production is swiftly diagnosed and dealt with."

"Will it last five minutes?"

"It will last five minutes," Rodney confirmed and looked up at him in surprise.

"Then sit and eat," Sheppard ordered and nodded to the fresh MRE that Ronon had been holding for him.

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"Is the Daedalus within reach yet?" Elizabeth hated to sound desperate, but she was. It had been seven days since Colonel Sheppard's team had failed to report in. They still couldn't get a lock on the gate to the planet they were on. It was an ever looming possibility that the wraith had already discovered the cities on that world and wiped the civilization, along with her team, from the planet.

"Just coming in communications range, ma'am," Chuck informed, "Comms open."

"Colonel Caldwell," Elizabeth greeted.

'Dr Weir,' the perpetually irritated sounding voice returned, 'It's almost as if you were watching for us.'

"We have a situation," Elizabeth confessed.

'Uh huh,' replied the tone of a man now expecting a long day, 'What's Colonel Sheppard and his team gotten into now?'

"That's what we'd like you to find out. I'm sending through the coordinates of the planet they're supposed to be on now. We haven't been able to reach the planet in a week." She began, and then explained the situation.

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Three alarmingly yellow bars spread across the monitor. Always yellow. Never green. One was a bit more orange. That one represented the shield strength. The other two represented battery power, and production rate. Colonel Sheppard kept his eyes glued to all three. When one turned almost red they'd wake McKay, not before. In seven days the scientist hadn't gotten more than as many hours sleep, and then only half an hour to an hour at a time.

A few feet away, Rodney lay curled on the ground in a bundle of blankets and pillows that the locals had brought. He'd been dead to the world for an hour and quarter, his longest stretch yet. Carson sat at his feet, ready with this planets powerful equivalent of an amphetamine in hand, and watched his chest rise and fall. Whatever it was, it worked.

Sheppard hoped they wouldn't have to use it again soon, but the shield bar darkened again. He was dimly aware of Teyla and Ronon moving nearby. Ronon was pacing somewhere out of his line of sight, waiting for his turn to watch the monitor and feeling helpless in the mean time. Teyla he could see in his peripheral was watching the sky.

"By the ancestors," Teyla breathed and stood.

Ronon stopped pacing and looked up, "Sheppard."

"What?" John asked without looking away from the monitor.

"We must wake Rodney," Teyla informed tensely.

"Wake up lad," the Scottish accent was heavy with regret.

"The bars still yellow...ish. It can wait a little while longer," John really didn't want to have to wake him yet.

A large hand clamped down on Johns head and tilted it upward. A meteor the size of a large moon looked like it was headed straight for them, "Wake up Rodney."

"Aye, I think we sussed that Colonel, thank you," Carson shook the unconscious scientist.

"You must awaken," Teyla insisted and gently slapped his face.

"Beckett!" Ronon drew the physicians attention to the sky and the meteor that was now the size of a small planet. Rodney's final warning before allowing them to take over monitoring while he slept was 'objects visible in the ionosphere are larger than they appear... much larger.' It was getting larger way too fast.

"I'm sorry lad," Beckett whispered as he injected Rodney with another dose of this planets uber-amphetamine.

"Whoah!" Rodney's eyes snapped open and his back straightened. He inhaled sharply as his heart skipped from a sleeping rhythm to awake and active entirely too quickly. His mind was propelled into razor sharp focus.

"I've got you," Carson soothed and held two fingers against Rodney's neck to check his pulse.

Rodney looked up, past the fussing Scotsman, and immediately found the reason they'd woken him, "Holy crap!"

John pointed needlessly at the object in the sky, "Will the shield hold through that?"

"No!" Rodney batted Carson away and scrambled to his feet.

"It has to!" Sheppard insisted, "There are a lot of people on this planet, Rodney. Including us!"

"Do you think I don't know that? Shut up and let me think!" he clenched his eyes and tapped his head, "Think think think."

At that moment, in the face of impending doom, Beckett was reminded ridiculously of Winnie the Pooh. Medically he knew that the giggle that lurked in his chest was a symptom of abject terror. In this situation he felt he could permit himself a healthy bit of disassociation.

"McKay..." Ronon yelled and drew his gun as though he planned to shoot down the looming asteroid.

"Rodney?" Teyla's eyes were glued unblinkingly to the enormous object.

"Think quickly Rodney!" Sheppard looked from the nearing meteor to Rodney tapping his head with his eyes closed, "MCKAY!"

The scientists eyes snapped open, with a drug-driven alertness. He darted to the laptop and began typing furiously, "This isn't going to be pretty."

"Doesn't have to be," Ronon growled, frustration at his own helplessness edging his voice.

He hit enter and looked up, "Let's hope that's just rock."

The shield began to thin at the edges of the horizon as energy flowed to the sky directly above them, forming a thin blade of light across the sky. The ground rumbled as smaller meteors began to pelt the surrounding landscape, smashing through buildings.

"McKay!" Sheppard looked at the rising clouds of dust in alarm.

"I told you it wouldn't be pretty!" Rodney yelled back as he switched the screen back to the battery controls. They weren't quite fully charged but it would be enough for the moment. He sent through the command that would seal the connection between the batteries and the tower and watched as the tower sent up a short pulse of power. The thin blade of light widened at the base and shot out to meet the meteor.

Ronon let his weapon hang in his hand, forgetting it as he gawked at the sky. The meteor split and the planet drifted safely through the two halves of utter darkness towards a line of star-speckled sky.

'Breath' Sheppard thought, and took a breath, "Nice work, Rodney."

The physicist was already returning power to the entire shield again and checking damage. He didn't like what he found.

"No it wasn't!" Rodney lamented, "The meteors that got through wiped out the wave generators and the wind farms. The batteries are completely drained, and that just seriously depleted the shield! Once we breech the edge of this giant meteor that is now ironically protecting us we are sitting ducks!"

"You have come this far," Teyla placed a hand on his and met his eyes, "You must give up now."

"I'm not giving up. There's just noth..." His eyes locked on a far wall of the tower with an intensity she'd not seen before, "That's insane."

"What is?" Sheppard knew that look and it made his stomach flip. It was the same 'try or die' look he'd had when John had dragged him away from Doranda.

"The ZedPM," Rodney announced and ran to the thick cable connecting the central column to the cobbled power supplies and disconnected it without further explanation.

John followed close on his heels, fully prepared to drag him back if necessary, "You said it was depleted."

"That's actually sort of a misgnomer. Zero point energy is limitless. What's limited is the lifespan of the module designed to access that energy," Rodney explained pedantically. He dragged the thick cable into the tower and began working to interface it with the depleted ZedPM.

"Isn't that basically the same thing?" John was beginning to worry that his friend had finally snapped under the lack of sleep and stress.

"If by basically you mean functionally then usually yes but not this time," Rodney rambled.

He was speaking so quickly now that John had to repeat it in his head a couple of times, "Why not?"

"Possibly because I've finally snapped," the physicist announced as he took out a marker and began scribbling equations on the floor.

If that was true then John knew he'd have to find some way to bring the scientist back to his senses. He was their only hope. But wait, if someone snaps can they know that they've snapped?

"What's going on?" Carson walked in and stopped short of the man scrawling on the floor.

"If someone can know that they're crazy, that means they're not, right?" Sheppard asked. It seemed like something a doctor would know.

The physician looked truly mystified, "What?"

"I can't do it," Rodney sat up and looked remorsefully down at the equations that surrounded him, "Not in the ten minutes we have, it's too complicated. I'm sorry."

'Colonel Sheppard, do you read?' the familiar voice of the Daedalus Commander jumped out of their earpieces.

"Good to hear your voice!" Sheppard answered his nemesis, and meant it more than he ever would have thought possible.

"Hermiod," McKay whispered, his eyes lighting with hope.

'We're unable to get a lock on you through the planets shield. We need you to lower it,' Caldwell informed, his disciplined tone carried none of the weight of what he was asking them to do.

"There's a lot of other people down here sir," Sheppard swallowed. If he gave that order it would leave everyone else on this planet to die.

'Do you mean to tell me you and your team intends to ride this out?' was that concern that bled through the military facade?

"HERMIOD!" Rodney scrambled for the talk switch and yelled into his radio.

'Please do not yell,' the alien voice answered with a calm that made Caldwell sound like a drama-queen.

"Just shut up and listen," McKay undiplomatically ordered the Asgard engineer, "I need your help. I can't do this. You can gloat later, when I will hasten to remind you that I don't have access to an ASGARD SUPER COMPUTER!"

'Very well,' Hermiod complied without hesitation or argument.

"The Zed PM is depleted to 0.00000000000000000000000000054 microhertz. I've already figured out how to feed both a negative and positive charge simultaneously that should resonate subspacially."

There was hesitation before Hermiod answered, 'I do not advise that.'

"We're out of options," Rodney insisted.

'Then you are out of options,' Hermiod confirmed, firmly.

"No, listen!" desperation edged Rodney's voice, "The power will feed back into the shield, strengthening it more than sufficiently..."

'That is not sane,' Hermiod interrupted.

"Did I mention we're out of options!" McKay wasn't giving up, "We drop the shield to concentrate it entirely around the ZedPM."

'That is the ionosphere,' Hermiod's voice had an edge to it that Sheppard had never heard before.

"Yes! I know that." Rodney snapped back, "We'll only need it for a few seconds. It takes longer than that to vent a planetary atmosphere."

"Wait, What?" Sheppard snapped his head up.

Carson gaped, "Did he just say what I think he said?"

Rodney ignored them and focussed entirely on convincing Hermiod, "I overload the ZedPM, the shield contains the blast, enough power feeds back through the tower to shield the entire planet for a really, really long time with enough left over in the buffers to turn it back into a cloak when we're out of this."

"Wait a minute!" Sheppard's voice cracked, "Did you just say you're overloading the ZedPM?"

'The calculations must be exact,' Hermiod advised, less firmly.

"I know!" Rodney hissed, "That's why I need help! And oh look! We now have five minutes."

'I am transmitting the algorithms now,' Hermiod resigned.

"You need to get out of here," Rodney flapped a hand towards the door and turned his attention fully back to the streaming calculations.

"I'm not leaving you!" Sheppard ground out firmly.

"Aye, neither am I!" Beckett agreed.

"I'll be right behind you." Rodney insisted.

"Like hell you will!" Sheppard took hold of Rodney's arm and wasn't going to let go.

Teyla's voice rose from outside the tower, "We are re-entering the meteor storm now!"

"Close your eyes, and get ready to run," Rodney ordered his two stubborn friends.

The shield surrounding the planet fizzled and drew inward, passing harmlessly through mountains, buildings, trees, and finally though Teyla and Ronon before disappearing into the tower.

A peculiar gentle wind drew upward.

"Go now!" Rodney's panicked order came from within the tower.

The three came running out, with John spurring Rodney ahead with a protective death grip on his arm, followed by a bright light that forced Teyla and Ronon to look away. The energy field that had disappeared into the tower spread outwards again until it again circled the planet and once again solidified into a thin rippling shell.

A powerful beam, wide and bright, shot into the heavens and the energy shell thickened.

"It worked?" Rodney tentatively opened his eyes and looked up.

"It worked!" Sheppard laughed, his nerves cracked. He loosened his grip on the scientist, "Good job McKay."

"No," McKay's breath hitched, "Oh no. No. No NO NO NO NO!"

It was one of those moments when time seemed to slow. John turned to see that the tower had burst into flames, and the colour of the beam had changed. There wasn't going to be a shield for much longer. Violent sparks and bolts encircled the building and flew every which way. Beckett and Teyla dove for cover. Sheppard looked at his hand, where Rodney should have been, then saw that the scientist was running straight for the tower, "Rodney no!"

It was Ronon who caught him and held the scientist to the ground, "It's over, McKay."

"Caldwell!" Sheppard yelled into his radio.

"We see it Colonel," the commander of the Daedalus answered altogether too calmly. "We have a lock on you and your team now."

The last thing the team saw was a field of rocks the size of buildings rushing towards the ground, followed by a flash of white.

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"Hermiod?" Caldwell asked, his level tone betrayed by the white knuckled grip he held on the arms of the command chair. Outside the view screen a cloud of dust was spreading over the crater filled planet.

"We have them," Hermiod confirmed, "along with as many other life signs as we are able to carry for the duration of the journey to Atlantis. I suggest we leave now."

"How many?" The commander asked.

"Four hundred and eleven," Hermiod responded simply.

Caldwell turned to Hermiod, "Are there any other survivors down there?"

"CO2 levels are rising as we speak, and no life now remains on the planet," Hermiod stated coolly.

Stephen Caldwell looked back at the planet with brief regret, then forced his attention back to the living, "Let's get out of here."

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The more Dr. Zelenka read the project notes for the work Rodney had been doing for Dr. Black, the more concerned he became. Even more concerning was the model energy wave manipulator that Rodney had already been using to conduct controlled tests. Radek was kicking himself for not paying closer attention when Rodney had been explaining the work. But this branch of theoretical physics was not within his normal field, or interests. The idea of a practical application for this work within their lifetime seemed so far-fetched that he'd dismissed it as frivolity. Radek was an engineer, concerned only with the practical application of physics rather than the flights of fancy that theoretical physicists, such as Rodney, were prone to. Now, Radek faced the possibility that he'd fallen prey to a bit of ego in that assumption and found himself playing catch-up in an area of physics that turned out not to be as impractically confined to the theoretical as he'd assumed.

The sooner he could talk to Rodney directly about this, the better. Once the situation was explained Radek was certain that Rodney would be able to bring him up to speed much more quickly. Then together they could work out what Dr. Black had actually been trying to get him to do and whether he has placed himself in immediate danger.

Dr. Zelenka checked his watch. He'd asked some time ago to be informed the moment Rodney was finished with his post mission check. A delay was to be expected, he supposed. The Daedalus had brought hundreds of wounded survivors back from the planet. Miraculously, Colonel Sheppard's team seemed entirely unharmed.

Colonel Sheppard himself chose that moment to stroll tiredly into the lab where Radek was working, "What's up Radek?"

"Ah, Colonel Sheppard," Radek looked past the Colonel, expecting Dr. McKay to be following close behind but saw no one, "Where's Rodney?"

"Hopefully, finishing up his post mission physical and on his way to bed," Sheppard drawled and sat heavily in the nearest chair.

A small curse made Radek's irritation at that clear, "Did no-one tell him that I must speak with him?"

"I might have intercepted that message," Sheppard drawled, "I wanted to see if it can wait? We're all a little tired after the last mission. I'm pretty sure he's just gonna want to sleep, so unless the city is going to blow up... it's not, right?"

"No. City is in no danger of which I am aware." Radek admitted but was no less determined to speak with Rodney, "Even so, this may be urgent. Rodney would want to be consulted as soon as possible."

"May be urgent?" Sheppard repeated the not so urgent sounding phrase, "You know we just got back from a seven day trip through a meteor storm. Right? There's a reason his radio is off. Why don't you tell me what the big non-emergency is?"

It must have been a difficult mission for Colonel Sheppard to remain such a stubborn barrier. "Very well," Radek sighed and took his glasses off, "I will explain to you first."

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The entire infirmary wing was in chaos. Much as the Daedalus had been for the ninety second trip through hyperspace. People snatched from the planet, some in their sleep, some wounded, some with heads still turned to the sky erupted in confusion. Where were they? Why were they here? Where was the rest of their people? What happened? When they were told what had happened it was worse.

The Atlantis infirmary was now filled to overflowing with the wounded. Some were quiet, too quiet. Others cried out in pain and confusion for loved ones that may well be dead.

"Dr. McKay," a nurse drew his attention from a spot of blood he'd been staring at on the floor, "Your blood work came back. Your sugar levels are little lower than we'd like but a meal and some sleep should fix that. You're free to go."

He stood from the chair he'd been sitting in; all the beds were taken, and strode to the infirmary doors without a word. He just wanted to get to his quarters, lock the universe out, and sleep for as long as said universe would let him. Only he hesitated at the door a moment. He knew the gauntlet that awaited him.

The door slid aside and he stepped into a new kind of mayhem. The corridor was lined on either side with the walking wounded, though most of them were sitting. Most were crying quietly, mourning the loss of so many lives on their destroyed home planet; lives that Rodney had been sent to save. The sound melded into one anguish moan that moved through the hall.

Any officer from either Atlantis or Daedalus with medic training was moving from person to person, checking their injuries and directing the most serious to the head of the line, while giving first aid to the others. Kate Heightmeyer sat with a young woman who was rocking back and forth.

Rodney looked straight ahead and walked even paced down the hall. He ignored the way the crying quieted to whispers. 'That's him.' 'It's the scientist.' Only when he reached the transporter did he realize he'd been holding his breath.

"Rodney," a Scottish accent called after him, "Wait up."

Rodney cringed, expecting to get dragged back for some test they'd forgotten in all the chaos, but the doctor joined him in the transporter. Much to Rodney's irritation, Carson reached past him and pressed the area of the map that whisked them to the commissary corridor.

"Come along then," the Scotsman coaxed all too cheerily, "Fresh supplies from the Daedalus today! I've asked the chef to whip us up something nice."

"Shouldn't you be busy?" Rodney snapped and rubbed his eyes. They were starting to sting again.

Carson resisted the urge to check Rodney's pulse again. It looked like the last dose of amphetamine was wearing off quickly, "I think the combined medical crew of the Daedalus and Atlantis can handle things for now. I'm tired enough I'd likely make mistakes. Not to mention I'm starving."

"Carson," Rodney began to protest but Carson cut him off.

"You need to eat too. I'll hear no argument," Carson didn't want to be cruel, but he knew that if he let the man lie down he'd fall asleep and not be able to wake up for hours. A proper meal was preferable to an IV line, especially in Rodney's state. The prescription was one good meal, then bed.

They rounded the last bend to the commissary and came upon Colonel Caldwell.

"Dr. Beckett, Dr. McKay," Caldwell greeted with a raised eyebrow. "It's good to see you both unharmed."

"Thanks to you...again," Rodney answered nervously. He was never comfortable around Colonel Caldwell; in particular since the whole Goa'uld incident.

"Aye, thank ye Colonel," Carson agreed, "We were in a might fix without ye!"

"Think nothing of it," Stephen tried to sound a bit more casual than his usual self and smiled a little, hoping to set the scientist at ease. As an afterthought he reached into his pocket and produced an envelope, "Oh, your sister asked Colonel Carter to arrange for this to be handed to you directly."

"Hmm, what's this?" Rodney opened the envelope and unfolded the sheets of paper within. His shoulders tensed and his expression darkened before he shoved the envelope back at Colonel Caldwell.

"What?" Caldwell began to ask but was shortly interrupted.

"Return to sender," Rodney informed stiffly, and walked away.

"Well," Stephen frowned down at the papers, "I wasn't expecting that."

"What is it?" Carson asked?

Stephen's heart sank. So much for improving his impression on Dr. McKay. If he'd known what the contents were he definitely would have waited for a better time to give it to him. "His fathers will."

"Rodney wait," Carson jogged to catch up to the retreating man, "Ye didn't mention yer father passed away. When did that happen?"

"I didn't mention it because it's of no consequence." Rodney snapped, determined not to be redirected from his quarters this time, "Jeannie might have dropped it in an e-mail a couple of months ago."

Carson gaped for a moment. Two months? That's what had been getting him down all this time, "Y'didn't say anything!"

"Because there's nothing to say!" Rodney bristled dismissively. He just wanted to go to bed. He turned the corner to the transporter and saw Sheppard approaching him with purpose.

"McKay!" Sheppard called to him urgently.

The full debriefing was supposed to wait until tomorrow, but no doubt captain impatient just couldn't wait until then. He just had to know what went wrong as though that would fix anything, "Save it Sheppard!"

Sheppard frowned at that, but pressed forward, "No, this is important."

"The planet is gone Sheppard. This talk can wait," Rodney pleaded, "You think I don't already know how monumentally I failed? We were sent out to save millions, we came back with hundreds. I don't need to hear again that they were all counting on me! Not right now. You can drill me after I've slept."

"What? No! Wait a minute... that's not what I..." John tried to explain as Rodney pushed past him.

"Slow down, lad. You're not thinking clearly," Beckett called after him.

There was another transporter at the other end of the commissary corridor, but Rodney came face to face with Caldwell again.

"Dr McKay?" Stephen looked up from the envelope he was still holding. He had been wondering if he should leave it with Dr. Weir or take it back to Earth as requested. He frowned at the way the scientist froze and backed away from him, too much like the way he had when the Goa'uld had backed him into a corner, "Are you alright Doctor?"

Colonel Sheppard rounded the corner behind him, holding out a calming hand, "Rodney, just slow down and listen."

Then Dr. Zelenka brushed past Sheppard and walked directly to Rodney, "I know you must be tired but you need to know, Dr. Black has been working for the Trust for many years. I do not think that the work he had you doing is all that it seems."

Rodney blinked at Zelenka, trying and failing to process that information.

Radek frowned at the blank expression on Rodney's face. McKay always had a reaction, "Rodney?"

Rodney turned down a side corridor, no longer caring where he ended up, and came face to face with Elizabeth and Ambassador Malin.

"Dr McKay," Elizabeth greeted formally in the presence of the Ambassador.

"Doctor," Malin extended his hand to the man who had worked so hard to save so few, "It is good to see you safe."

Rodney stared at the man who had once represented billions and now negotiated on behalf of only hundreds and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He stumbled backwards, the world tilted, and he leaned against the wall.

"Rodney?" Elizabeth replaced the formality with concern.

"Dr. McKay?" Malin echoed.

"Rodney?" Sheppard caught up.

"Dr. McKay?" Caldwell was beside him.

"Zhluboka dýchat," Radek was telling him to breath.

'Claustrophobic,' the word flitted through his mind. Too many people were talking to him, coming closer. He could vaguely feel himself sliding down.

"Give him some space," Carson's voice ordered.

'Yes,' Rodney thought, 'please, just let me go to bed'. The world blurred in and out of focus. Blurry Carson appeared in front of his face.

"There there," Beckett said a little too gently, "Things will look better after a good sleep."

Sleep was Rodney's last thought as the world went dark.

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End file.
